In Silver Dreams
by Jethro25
Summary: 2 groups of adventurers meet & become close, eventually setting out to keep great & terrible ancient secrets out of the hands of those who would ill-use them. Along the way they discover much about themselves. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

This is an ongoing project. I have planned it out for roughly 18-20 chapters. The first 15 have already been completed. I will attempt to post a chapter every 1-2 days. The setting of this story is the Forgotten Realms, a fantasy world the content of which, including several of the characters which will appear in this story I do not own. Only my own unique characters are mine.

**IN SILVER DREAMS**

**CHAPTER ONE - A Fortuitous Meeting**

A cold winter wind blew in off the Sea of Storms, past the city of Neverwinter, and continued on into the forest known as the Neverwinter Wood. The bright starlight shone through the leafless boughs of trees waiting patiently for the warmth of spring to arrive. Southeastward the wind blew, finally passing through a large clearing a few miles from the Southernmost edge of the forest.

There was a battle underway in the clearing between a small group of travelers and a large war band of orcs and orogs. The travelers fought in a circle, their backs to one another around the remains of their campfire. The starlight provided just enough illumination for them to see the pig-like faces of the nasty creatures they fought.

The humanoids threw themselves forward in waves, attempting to overwhelm the beleaguered defenders. Close to a dozen of the beasts were down already, but it was clear that they would eventually exhaust their adversaries.

A few hundred yards farther to the Southeast, toward the edge of the forest, the wind carried the sounds of battle, the sharp ring of metal on metal, the harsh guttural cries of the orcs, and the yells of the travelers as they fought for their lives, to the ears of another small band. Four shapes moved stealthily through the trees, two men, a woman, and a large white wolf.

The first of the two men, a half-elven woodsman, carried a short bow of pale ash with an arrow nocked, but not drawn. His name was Toranes Doriego. Powerfully built, he was just a hair shy of six feet tall with broad shoulders, black hair cropped close, a neatly trimmed goatee, and steely gray eyes. He wore a leather tunic, dyed to a deep forest green, with blackened metal studs, over fine linen garments in shades of brown, and green, and gray. A heavy black cloak kept the chill from reaching all but his hands and face. A slightly curved saber, with a silver-chased basket hilt hung from his left hip, balanced by a fine dagger with a small emerald set in the pommel on his right.

The man to his right, named Tharkunn Doressin, wore mostly all black, his right hand on the hilt of a long sword in a scabbard at his left hip. His dark eyes never ceased scanning the nearby woods for enemies. He moved almost as quietly through the dried leaves and mulch of the forest floor as did Toranes. His dark brown hair was worn long, just slightly down past the shoulders, with a touch of gray at the temples. It was held back from his face by a silver clip, set with a polished dark blue stone. He was somewhat slight of build, but wiry, dressed in a cranberry colored fine wool shirt and black breeches. He also wore a black cloak.

The woman, Kyera Trajan, was also a half-elf. She had bright green eyes and long shining black hair down to her waist, drawn back in an intricate braid. Her slim figure and beautiful face were enough to set any man's blood aflame. The only weapon visible upon her person was a fine jeweled dagger, set with a large glittering sapphire in the hilt, tucked into her belt of bronze links. She held her heavy cloak, deep blue and lined with marten, close about her to protect her from the wind. Despite her long, midnight blue dress, she seemed to glide along almost as quietly as the two men. As they approached the clearing, she readied her true weapon, her mind, calling forth a minor spell to be hurled at the humanoids.

The wolf was a blend of snowy white and grays ranging from near white to almost black with a deep black muzzle. She ghosted along next to Toranes, her boon companion. The name she responded to was Blizzard and, like Toranes, she hated orcs. She longed to howl out a challenge as she loped through the trees, but she'd been trained to remain stealthy. As they approached the edge of the clearing, she stopped beside the woodsman at his soft verbal command.

Both Toranes and Blizzard had a special hatred of orcs. Of all the many creatures on the surface of Aebir-Toril, there were none they despised more. Toranes fought down the urge to rush headlong into the clearing, forcing himself instead to take a few seconds to survey the moonlit scene in front of him and plan the attack appropriately. Tharkun slipped up behind a tree to his right. Toranes felt Kyera's hand on the back of his left shoulder, and he knew she was ready to do her part.

Around a campfire in the center of the clearing, he saw a small group fighting for their lives. Two of them were already down, probably dead. Closest to him was a large man in a red, green and gold kilt, wielding a large two-handed sword. He had wild red hair, which hung loosely around his shoulders and a full, unkempt, red moustache and beard. He must have been at least six and a half feet tall, and well over two hundred and seventy pounds. He swung his sword in a vicious arc, cleaving the orc before him in two, but before the body even hit the ground, an orog as big as he was stepped up to face him, swinging a large, spiked club at his head. Only quick wrists and great strength turned aside the blow.

To the big man's left, a tall, attractive woman with blonde hair, loose around her shoulders, fought with a mace against a pair of smaller orcs. She wore the pink, red and yellow robes of a cleric of Lathander. Her posture was one of pure defense. She swung her mace back and forth in an effort to block the probing thrusts from orcish spears. Her breathing was labored. Eventually, she would tire and she would begin to slow, and one of those thrusts would strike home.

On the far side of the Lathanderian priestess was a stocky, brown-bearded dwarf with a small round shield and a wicked looking axe. He wore a chain mail hauberk which hung to his knees. He wielded the axe with skill, taking the arm from a careless orc before ducking back behind the shield. Toranes could see at least two orcish arrows protruding from his body. They hardly seemed to be affecting him though. A particularly brave orc stepped up to swing a rusty short sword, and had the axe imbedded in his skull for his efforts. The dwarf tugged the axe free, but not before yet another of those foul creatures had torn a gash in his leg with its spear point.

To the left of the dwarf, a woman with flame colored hair, of a shade with the big man's, wearing a long white dress, fought with only a dagger. As Toranes watched, an orcish arrow from the far side of the clearing took her in the shoulder, driving her back a step. Bright red blood began to spread across the shoulder of that white dress. She looked down at the arrow and promptly slumped to the ground. The dwarf immediately altered his stance, angling his body to protect his fallen comrade.

To the left of the woman, a large man in chain mail and a breastplate swung a long sword and held a kite shaped shield. He shifted a step to the right, mimicking the dwarf, protecting the fallen woman. His sword work was excellent, precise cuts and parries. He seemed to be the freshest of the group, but even he was beginning to slow. He risked a glance back toward the young woman, and Toranes saw both determination and despair on his face. He seemed to be a young man, but even so, his face was lined with worry.

Slowly, as he and the dwarf held off the orcs, the woman's body began to slide across the ground deeper into the circle. For the first time, Toranes noticed a small figure inside the circle, about the size of a human child, dressed in bright greens and yellows. It was obviously the halfling who had pulled the fire-haired woman to relative safety. It was difficult for Toranes to make out the details, but he thought the halfling was male.

To the left of the man Toranes had sub-consciously dubbed "the knight", a half-elven swordsman in a silky black shirt and black breeches, with long chestnut colored hair held back in a ponytail, fought with a pair of orcs, using a flashing rapier and main-gauche. He fought with a daring and reckless style, dancing back and forth, stabbing and slashing this way and that. He had several minor wounds to show for his efforts. He seemed more interested in defending the companion to his left than he did himself.

It was this eighth, and final, companion that managed to shock the unflappable woodsman. The moonlight glinted off her long, lustrous white hair, and her amber eyes burned against the darkness, and against her ebony skin. She wore a dark colored dress of fine linens. She was small, no taller than an inch or so over five feet, but the orcs wouldn't even approach her. She fought a losing battle against a pair of orogs. She swung a small war hammer in a defensive maneuver against the two huge clubs.

All of this Toranes took in with a three second glance around the clearing. He delayed another second as he troubled over why a priestess of the Morning Lord would be fighting alongside a drow female, but he pushed the thought aside. There would be time enough to figure it out after the orcs had been dealt with. He raised his bow, and smoothly drew back the string until the fletching on the arrow brushed his cheek. He targeted one of a pair of orcs pressuring the Lathanderian. The bowstring twanged and his shaft flew true, taking the creature in the side of the throat, lifting it off its feet and toppling onto its side. The second orc turned to look at his fallen partner, puzzled by this new development, and was quickly brained by the woman's mace, crumpling to the ground like a boneless mass.

As the arrow streaked across the fifty yards to its target, Blizzard was already in full flight, leaping into the back of the nearest, unsuspecting orc, her teeth seeking the creature's neck. And just like that, she was gone, seeking other prey. The orc flailed about trying to hold in the lifeblood which poured from its ruined throat.

Tharkunn drew a slim-bladed dagger from a sheath tucked into the top of his left boot, and launched it into the clearing, catching a very confused orc in the belly as he turned. As the creature cried out in rage and pain, Tharkunn sprinted into the clearing to an open space ten yards from the edge. His sword slid free of the scabbard, coming out in a wide sweeping arc, catching the nearest orc as it charged, eviscerating the beast. The man in black set his feet and prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught.

As Tharkunn settled in to fight, Toranes pulled the bowstring to his cheek for a second shot. As the fletching again brushed his cheek, Kyera whispered a single word of magic, "_Laninok," _releasing her spell, sending five balls of pure coruscating purplish-blue magical energy streaking across the clearing to strike both of the orcs in front of the dwarf in the chest. One took three of the strikes and was thrown backward from the impact, knocking down another behind him. The second was hit twice, and stared in disbelief at his scorched chest as he stumbled back a step. He quickly went down when the dwarf bashed his face in with his shield.

It was a close thing as to who was more surprised, the humanoids or the travelers, but it was the travelers who recovered first. The 'knight" let out a furious battle cry to Torm the True and stepped forward, driving back his foes. He bashed one orc aside with his shield and sliced through the ratty leathers of another, leaving it with a terrible wound to the abdomen. The dwarf roared out a cry to Clangeddin, the dwarven god of battle, and finished the orc who'd been knocked from his feet.

Toranes' second arrow took an orog in the back of the shoulder just as it was poised to bash the red bearded man from the side. The man's own blade was too slow in coming up, but the orog, thrown off balance by the arrow, only managed to graze him. He chopped it in the neck with a downward swing, forcing it to the ground, and kicked it backward to free up his blade.

A trio of orcs and a single orog broke off from the main group and charged Tharkunn. He faced them calmly, as if he had all the time in the world. One orc went down beneath a flash of gray-white, fangs tearing at hamstrings. As the others got near, Tharkunn suddenly burst into motion. A quick flick of his wrist disarmed the first orc, leaving a short gash along its wrist. He spun to parry the short sword of the second orc. As the clang of metal on metal still resounded around him, he ducked low, turning what would have been a devastating blow from the orog into a stinging graze to his left shoulder before spinning back and burying his own blade into the beast's midsection.

Another five missiles of pure magic flew from the trees, dodging around Tharkunn to slam into the neck and chest of the orog, forcing the creature to stumble back. Tharkunn used the moment Kyera had bought him well. He finished the disarmed orc and spun back to parry another wild swing from the other. His own blade flashed past its guard, taking the creature in the throat.

The companions were rallying now, as the humanoids struggled to understand how the tide of battle had managed to turn against them. The big man and the "knight" swung their swords in wide arcs, driving their tormentors back in an effort to buy a few seconds of rest for their companions. The Lathanderian priestess ducked back behind them, pulling a golden chain from beneath her robes. Bending over the redheaded woman, she began a fervent prayer to her god.

A single orc managed to slip between the dwarf and the big man, spear raised at her back. A stone, slung by the halfling on the far side of the fire, hit the orc in the center of the forehead, knocking it senseless for a moment. The big man reached back with one hand, grabbed it around the throat and flung it into the orog now facing him. They both sprawled in the dirt, but another orog stepped in, preventing him from finishing them.

Toranes unleashed several more arrows, each finding a home in orcish flesh. A quintet of orcs and orogs turned toward the trees where the damned archer was hiding and began to charge. Toranes recognized the chant Kyera had begun behind him, and ducked to the side, sliding around the tree Tharkunn had used as cover earlier. He felt the flash of heat as an expanding ball of flame rushed out past him and burst in the center of the charging creatures. There was a thunderous boom and a flash, and all three of the orcs were down. One orog lay on the ground thrashing about for a few seconds before going still. The second orog danced about, howling in pain and batting at its own head with blackened hands, trying to put out its own flaming hair. Toranes unleashed a shaft, dropping it to the ground, where it lay still.

Tharkunn faced the wounded orog before him calmly. Enraged by the pain, it charged him again. He deftly deflected its wild swing, feeling a jolt in his shoulder as the powerful beast slammed into him. He spun away, keeping his feet, then turned his shoulder in, thrusting his long sword halfway to the hilt into its back. He pulled his blade free, knowing the creature was dead before it ever hit the ground.

The swordsman next to the drow woman spun around after finishing the orc before him, taking a blow meant for her in his side from the club of an orog. His breath gone, he stumbled to a knee, and Toranes was sure he was finished. The creature brought its club back up over its head. The overhand blow would surely crush the man's skull. He was stunned and couldn't even see the blow coming, let alone block it. Toranes brought his bow up, drawing it back, but he knew he wouldn't be in time. Even as he managed to reach the halfway point of the draw, the club began to descend. A flash of silver crossed his sight, and the drow woman's war hammer crushed the nose of the orog, sending it stumbling back, the club falling from nerveless fingers.

The heroic move was a suicidal one for the drow. The other orog facing her howled with glee as it wound up to pound her with its own club. She fumbled at her belt for a dagger, but it was useless, and the look on her face, a mixture of resignation and despair said she knew it. His decision made in that instant, Toranes adjusted his aim by a hair and loosed his shaft. It flew true, taking the orog right through its open mouth, cutting off its victory yell, turning it into a pained gurgle. The club followed through on momentum alone, but the drow managed to slip the worst of it. Even so, the impact to her shoulder drove her to the ground where she remained. A second later, the orog dropped beside her.

An opportunistic orc stepped up, seeing a chance to finish the stunned swordsman, who had fallen backward and was lying on his back, but suddenly found his way barred by the halfling, a short sword held steady before him. The orc delayed only a second before advancing on his diminutive foe, but that was enough for Kyera's next spell to take effect. _"Deranzere Pokroi."_ The orc felt the magic wash over him, but did not understand what it was he felt. He couldn't grasp how it was possible that the little halfling now towered over him. In fact, all those around him now seemed giants. The last thought that flashed through his mind before Tolmen's blade ended his life was that, somehow, he'd shrunk.

The tide had well and truly turned. Blizzard tore out another hamstring, dashing away before the orc could stab out at her. The travelers in the circle, seeing hope, where a moment before there had been none, attacked with a renewed vigor. A half-dozen more humanoids went down in the next moment. Tharkunn advanced slowly toward the companions, slashing down another pair of orcs foolish enough to stand in his way. Another pair of arrows flew from the trees, dropping another orog. To his left, Toranes saw Kyera wind up and make a motion as if she were hurling a stone into the clearing. _"Nicimiyen Jovayas Ouldzeen."_

About halfway to the humanoids, the air began to swirl and coalesce along the path her throw would have taken, and a small air elemental formed, driving into the chest of another orog, knocking it back. Toranes smiled. The spell, del'Nuron's Diminishing Blow, was one that was known only to Kyera and her mentor, Emirikol del'Nuron.

The elemental was the last straw for the humanoids. Many threw down their weapons and fled into the trees. A few fought on, and died quickly. Others fled along any route they could. Eight more fell to the travelers or Tharkunn, or Blizzard during their retreat. The white wolf yelped out in pain as an orog swiped at her, clubbing her in the side as he fled. An arrow, one of a handful of enchanted shafts he owned, from Toranes' bow lodged in its spine and it fell, never to rise again.

At least thirty-five orcs and orogs had escaped. Still, the clearing was littered with the corpses of at least thirty more dead or dying humanoids. Toranes gritted his teeth. He wanted to pursue the fleeing beasts, to ensure none of them ever took another life, but he couldn't. His first responsibility would be to aid the travelers.

Tharkunn had sheathed his sword, but his hand was still on the hilt, and his eyes scanned the trees for any orcs who might try to double back and catch them unawares. Kyera left the cover of the trees and stepped up beside him. A moment later, his bow now slung on his back, Toranes joined them.

The travelers faced the newcomers, except for the dwarf, Reldrin, who was handily finishing any wounded or unconscious humanoids, and Kaylin, the Lathanderian priestess, who worked feverishly over her fallen comrades.

Gunthar Silvershield, the man Toranes had dubbed "the knight", stepped up to the front of his companions. His sword was held out and at the ready, and he peered over his shield at Toranes and the others. He was grateful that they had arrived when they did, but he would not simply assume that they were friends. Just because they killed orcs, it did not mean that they would not kill him and his friends just as quickly. The two groups faced one another from a distance of perhaps thirty feet.

Gunthar immediately pegged the woman as the mage. Three of his companions had ability with the Art, but at the moment, all were now down. And, none were capable of what she'd shown during the battle at any rate.

Halion stepped up beside him. The red bearded man leaned heavily on his claymore. The side of his kilt was soaked in blood, much of it his own. Gunthar was amazed that he was still standing. He made a good show of standing strong, but Gunthar could see the slight trembling of his arms. He knew Halion well enough to know that nerves would be no part of it. He was exhausted as well as wounded.

Galarid was still trying to rise behind them, but he was unable to stand. He gave up and crawled to where a'Launiira, the drow woman lay, her eyes closed. Her exquisitely beautiful face was covered in her own blood, which flowed heavily from a scalp wound. Although it bled freely, from where Gunthar stood, the wound itself did not look too serious. He was much more concerned with her shoulder. He'd seen that blow fall, and he was convinced that it was for the best that she'd lost consciousness.

Behind him, Gunthar could hear Reldrin muttering and cursing in dwarven as he pulled an orcish arrow from his thigh. Kaylin was praying again to Lathander, tears streaming down her cheeks as she attempted to stem the flow of blood from Myrian's shoulder. The flame haired apprentice mage looked very pale and her breathing seemed very shallow. Gunthar doubted that Kaylin's tears were for Myrian alone. He'd seen the orcish spear tear through Addam's body. There was no way that the mage had lived through that. It was a tragedy. He'd been a good man, and a great friend. His magic had helped them all time and again, but on this night, it hadn't been able to save him.

And poor Melandra. He never should have allowed her to tag along with them. She was so young. Her exuberance and energy had been uplifting for all the companions. Now, she'd never grow up. Fifteen was too young to fall to an orcish arrow, but there was nothing he could do about it now, except offer up a prayer to Torm in their names.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gunthar could see Tolmen, his old friend, trying to bandage Galarid's wounds. The man seemed oblivious. He only had eyes for a'Launiira. Gunthar smiled at the thought of the jubilant little halfling being alright. They'd been friends for more than ten years. He'd known Tolmen longer than any of the others.

Silence stretched between the two groups for almost ten seconds. Finally, Gunthar said, "Thank you for your aid, friends. You saved our lives this night."

Toranes took a step forward and answered, "It was nothing any decent soul wouldn't have done. We couldn't just leave you to the filthy orcs."

Gunthar nodded, but said, "You took quite a risk. There were close to seventy of them, and twenty or more of them orogs." The half-elf didn't react at all beyond a grimace. Gunthar continued, "Even with both our groups, the outcome had to be uncertain." He tried to read the half-elf's expression. Just then, Blizzard hobbled back into the clearing from the trees. Gunthar turned and raised his blade. The dwarf raised his axe.

"Don't." The half-elf's voice was cold and threatening, but at the same time, not, or so it seemed to Gunthar. "She's with me." He whistled once, and the white wolf limped to his side, where she sat on her haunches next to him and whined. He dropped a hand on her head and scratched behind her ears. Gunthar watched, a little bit put out that he could so casually be touching the huge wolf.

"It was our pleasure to help," Kyera said, but before she could go on, a cry from Kaylin turned all their attention to her.

"I'm losing her Gunthar! The arrowhead must have been poisoned."

Gunthar looked back. Myrian's breathing did seem a bit more shallow. Her color was worse as well. The wound was mostly closed now, a product of Kaylin's healing spell, no doubt. Gunthar had no idea what to do. Kaylin's spells were obviously exhausted, or she would have done something already. a'Launiira was unconscious, and her spells had all but been depleted as well.

Halion turned and dropped his sword. "Noooo!" The scream tore from his throat. He dropped to his knees with a thud next to Myrian. "Noooo! Not me sister," he sobbed in a thick Moonshaes brogue. "She's too young. She's jess a lass."

When Gunthar turned back to the newcomers, he found that the half-elf was standing no more than five feet in front of him. His hands were empty, and his palms were out. Gunthar's blade came up reflexively, but he quickly lowered it again. Curious, the half-elf had moved quickly and he hadn't heard a thing. He didn't think Halion's cries could wholly account for it. Gunthar looked him in the eyes.

He spoke then, quietly, "My name is Toranes Doriego. These are my friends, Kyera Trajan," he gestured to the stunning woman in blue, "and Tharkunn Doressin," the man in black. "The wolf is Blizzard." Gunthar nodded to each of them as they were named, including the wolf, though it made him feel a bit foolish. "We are from Silverymoon, representatives from High Lady Alustriel, on our way home after a meeting with Lord Nasher of Neverwinter." The half-elf paused a moment to see how the man might respond. "I am also a ranger, skilled in woods lore, and very familiar with orcs and their ways." Gunthar nodded as he spoke. "Please allow me to examine your friend. I may be able to save her life."

Gunthar was used to making quick decisions. For three years he'd commanded a cavalry regiment for Waterdeep. He was also very good at reading another man's eyes. In Toranes' eyes he saw compassion, and urgency. "Thank you," he found himself saying, even before he realized he'd made the decision.

Toranes darted past him and dropped to a knee beside Halion. The big man glanced at him, but continued to cradle his sister's head on his lap. "Please," he whispered, "Please help her." It was the first time that Gunthar had ever heard him ask for anything from someone outside the group. He supposed he could understand, given the circumstances.

Toranes didn't respond. He was too engrossed in concentration. He tore the sleeve of Myrian's dress near the wound, so he could examine her shoulder. Halion stiffened a bit, but he didn't interfere. Toranes gently touched the edges of the wound with his fingertips, and brought them to his nose. He sniffed twice and caught a faint scent similar to jasmine, but with a bitter undertone. He quickly wiped his fingers on the ground and began to rummage through the pouch at his belt.

Tharkunn and Kyera had approached, and they were speaking in a low voice with Gunthar and Reldrin. Gunthar and Tharkunn clasped arms in a warrior's shake. Kyera laid a hand on Gunthar's shoulder, and in a soft, almost musical voice, she said, "If anyone can save her, Toranes can. Short of a priestess of Talona, he knows more about herbs and poisons than anyone I've ever known." A speculative light lit Gunthar's eyes as he watched the ranger at his work.

Kaylin, who'd moved on to bandaging a'Launiira's wounds, looked up at that point with a bit of hope in her eyes. The tears had left trails through the dust and blood on her cheeks. She even managed a half-smile to share with the half-elf woman. Kyera returned the smile with a warm one of her own. She knelt down next to Kaylin and began to examine a slash on the priestess's arm.

Toranes produced a pair of small blue berries from a vial in his pouch. He crushed them between his fingers and let the juice dribble over the wound in Myrian's shoulder. He looked up at Halion and said, "The arrowhead was coated in blackthorn powder. It's very deadly." The big man shuddered. Toranes hurried on. "Luckily enough for us, it doesn't work incredibly fast."

Gunthar knew very little about poisons, or herbs, but he nodded as Toranes spoke. "I've used a bit of juice from the blueweed berries to slow the effects of the blackthorn further. It won't stop it, but it will buy us some time." He clasped Halion's shoulder and gave a small, reassuring squeeze as he spoke.

A light of hope began to shine in Halion's eyes. "I don't suppose any of you have any fox fennel?" Toranes glanced around as he asked. All the companions shook their heads. Toranes took a deep breath. He'd expected as much, but hoped to be wrong.

"Wha' can we do?" Halion asked. He looked at Toranes now as if the ranger were his last hope. It was possible, Gunthar thought, that he was.

Toranes replied, "The blueweed juice will keep her alive for another two hours, maybe. I have to find some fox fennel before then."

"In the dark?" Gunthar asked. "In the middle of the night?"

"I'll manage," Toranes answered.

"Some of us should go with you," Gunthar offered, loosening his sword in the scabbard. "Those orcs are still out there somewhere."

"No," Toranes answered. "You should stay here. If the orcs return, you'll need every sword. Besides, I'll move quicker and quieter on my own. If I see any orcs, I'll do my best to avoid them." Tharkunn grimaced, but said nothing. Kyera raised an eyebrow.

"What should we do while you're gone?" Kaylin asked.

"Boil some water," Toranes answered. "Mix in a little wine, then boil it down a bit and soak a few bandages in it. Kyera will show you. I'll be back soon." He stopped and spoke quietly with the wolf for a moment, once again producing surprised stares from the companions as he nuzzled her nose. After a moment, he quickly rose and trotted off into the trees without another word.

"I'll take a few minutes and scout around the camp," Tharkunn said in his gravelly voice, "make sure none of them are lying low nearby. I won't go far." He walked to the wolf and patted her head. "Come on Blizzard." Gunthar watched him disappear into the trees opposite the direction that Toranes had gone, the wolf limping along behind him. He took a breath, and a moment to assess the situation, and then began to issue orders.

"Reldrin, help me move Addam and Melandra away from the fire. Galarid, lie down for a moment and let Kaylin get a good look at you. a'Launiira will be alright." As he and Reldrin lifted Addam gently, and carried him a short distance away, he said, "Halion, try to get a little rest. You won't do Myrian any good if you fall over. And let Tolmen bandage your wounds." Halion looked up, his eyes filling with tears. He was about to object, but then he just nodded and lay down next to his sister, holding her hand. Tolmen immediately went to work washing and bandaging.

As he carried poor, sweet Melandra, Gunthar told Tolmen, "When you're done with Halion, take a quick scout around yourself. Make sure there is nothing out there." The little halfling nodded wearily, and went back to his bandaging.

Toranes and his friends seemed like good people, but Gunthar wasn't quite ready to rely solely on them. He'd survived as long as he had by taking a care. He sat down next to the fire to catch his breath before tackling the job of dragging away the orcish corpses. When he looked up, Kyera was watching him from across the flames as she prepared to boil a pot of water. She smiled, a warm and knowing smile, with just a hint of amusement in it. Gunthar couldn't help but to feel just a bit sheepish. He shrugged and stood, walking to the nearest orc, grabbing it by the ankles and dragging it off. Kyera smiled after him. Throughout it all, the bitter cold wind continued to blow.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO - Fox Fennel**

The pale, full moon shone down through the trees, illuminating the ground enough for Toranes to move both quickly and quietly, dodging the small scattered groups of orcs and orogs that crossed his path. He moved like a ghost, around them, past them, in one case between them.

It was a difficult test for him, a measure of his strength of will, to keep moving, and not to strike at them, and rid the face of Faerun of a few more orcs. Had he not known how desperately the young woman needed for him to find the fox fennel, and return quickly, he would have reveled in the havoc he could have caused amongst them. The girl's life hung in the balance, though, and that made all the difference.

Off in the distance, he heard the short, sharp bark of a fox, and turned toward it. He'd been gone nearly thirty minutes from the campsite when he heard the soft sounds of a babbling brook. He figured it was his best chance.

As he followed the sounds of the brook, north and east, another sound caught his ear. The harsh sound of orcish voices carried through the trees, speaking quietly, at least for orcs, but obviously engaged in some kind of argument. He approached, as quietly as he could, and listened carefully to what they said. He had long ago decided it would be of great benefit to him to learn the language of his most reviled enemies.

There appeared to be three of the creatures, on the near bank of the brook, arguing over the battle they had just fled and their next course of action. As Toranes slipped up close, he saw that all three were orogs, and as ill luck would have it, none seemed any the worse for wear. The largest of the three, almost eight feet tall, was speaking, "Nuruk say we cross stream and head back to caves."

"No, Nuruk," argued the second creature. "We no find food yet. Madak say we find other orcs, take humans from village," he stopped and scratched his head in obvious thought, "…that way," he said finally, pointing Southwest. There was in fact a small farming community in that direction, just outside the edge of the forest, maybe eighty hardy folk.

"Me agree," said the third, thumping himself on the chest. He was the smallest of the three at roughly seven foot two or so, yet he seemed even more confident of himself than either of the others.

Letting his line of sight trail just beyond the three beasts, Toranes could see the thin, swaying, reed-like blades and red-brown tipped heads of a patch of fox fennel growing near the edge of the stream, not fifteen feet from the orogs. In the back of his mind, he could feel the seconds slipping away, and with each one, he knew that the young woman, Myrian, edged just a bit closer to death.

Toranes was at least as accomplished with the saber at his hip as he was with the bow, but just himself against the three orogs, with no one else to back him up, was a bit of a risky proposition. Given a choice, he would have shown some patience, moving away and using his bow to advantage, or sneaking around and attempting to slip in behind the creatures to take the plant without their interference, or even just waiting for them to move off while remaining concealed. There simply wasn't time for any of that.

What he did instead, was to summon forth a spell to mind. Ironically, it was the same one that Kyera had used first an hour earlier, chosen because it required no physical components, and no lengthy chanting of words of power, which might warn them of his attack.

"_Laninok!_" Five coruscating balls of magical energy, a pale bluish-white in this case, leapt from his left hand and straight into the chest of the largest of the three, Nuruk. The creature let out a howl of pain that split the night air. Toranes slid the saber, Redlan, from its sheath and charged in amongst them. His blade bit deeply into the side of the nearest creature, Madak eliciting another roar of pain and rage. The orog swung wildly, clubbing the woodsman on the side of the head with a fist the size of a small ham. Toranes rolled with the blow, slashing and dancing his way past them.

Nuruk, his chest blackened from the magical barrage reacted quickly, snatching up his club and swinging it in a roundhouse arc. Unfortunately for Madak, Toranes saw it coming. He threw himself into a forward roll between the two creatures, coming up behind both. The club whistled through the air above him, slicing through the spot he'd occupied just a second earlier, before landing squarely in the center of Madak's chest with a sickening crunch as a pair of the orog's ribs gave way. He stumbled and fell.

The third, unnamed creature proved to be the slyest of the three, waiting for Toranes' dodge and reacting quickly, racing around Nuruk, his spear stabbing forward to catch the woodsman in the left leg, just above the knee. Toranes' parry was just a bit too slow in coming. He forced back the cry that seemed to want to tear from his own throat. Instead, he pulled the jeweled dagger from his belt and launched it at his assailant, catching the creature at the joint of its right shoulder. It released the spear and gripped the dagger, preparing to pull it free. Behind him, Toranes sensed that Nuruk was just beginning to turn. Madak could clearly be heard thrashing about in pain on the ground.

Toranes reversed the grip on his sabre, driving it straight back into the dense flesh of Nuruk's side. The creature howled again and swung his fist back, catching Toranes in the shoulder and driving him to the ground near the brook.

Things were not going well. He'd managed to hurt two of them badly, but the third remained mostly uninjured while Toranes himself was beginning to feel more than a bit battered. He pulled the spear tip from his leg and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. The wound in his leg throbbed and he could feel the hot, wetness of his own blood running down his leg. He threw the spear into the underbrush on the far side of the brook.

Nuruk, his pig-like face a mask of rage and pain, turned and took a single step toward Toranes, who backed away as best he could. Nuruk stumbled and fell, clutching at his side. Thick black blood flowed freely through his sausage-like fingers. He tried once to regain his feet, but stumbled again, falling facedown. A few seconds later, he was still.

Madak, once again on his feet, charged at Toranes, his club whistling through the air at the woodsman's head. Toranes sidestepped to the left, almost losing his balance when his weight came down on his bad leg, and brought Redlan across in a parry to his right. The impact from the club jarred his shoulder, numbing his fingers. He took a step back, and spun to the right, his blade flashing across, opening a line across the orog's throat. Madak made a gurgling noise as he fell back, hands grasping at his ruined throat. He died quickly.

Toranes' leg throbbed. He could feel himself beginning to get just a bit light-headed from the loss of blood. He forced himself into a ready stance, sword upraised before him. He was facing the last orog, who now held Nuruk's club in one large hand and Toranes' dagger in the other. Instead of attacking, the beast turned and disappeared into the trees, apparently not quite ready to face the woodsman alone, even injured. For a split second, Toranes regretted the loss of his fine dagger.

Under other circumstances, he would have pursued and finished the job. Instead, he limped to the stream, gently lowering himself to the ground. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, and set about gathering up a good supply of the fox fennel, wrapping it in a wet cloth and placing it into a pouch at the front of his sword belt. He took a few minutes to clean his leg wound and wrap it with bandages. He could feel his shoulder tightening up, and he had no doubt that his left eye would be swollen shut before long.

As soon as he finished, he heaved himself to his feet, and headed off as quickly and as quietly as he could, back toward the camp where his companions, and the travelers they had just met, awaited him. It took a bit longer, and it was a bit more difficult for him to get back unseen and unheard with his injury. Somehow he managed, fighting through the spikes of pain which shot up his leg with every step.

He'd been gone more than ninety minutes by the time he approached the clearing. The travelers had a full sixty seconds warning before he appeared, when Blizzard got up and trotted to the edge of the clearing. Gunthar and Reldrin began to rise and draw weapons, but they were motioned back to the ground by Kyera, who put a pot of water back on the fire.

"If it was anyone but Toranes or Tharkunn, she'd be growling and howling by now," she said. They looked questioningly at one another but they stayed where they were.

Less than a minute later, Toranes limped out of the trees, straight toward the fire. Kyera was on her feet and by his side, an arm around his waist in a flash. Gunthar and Reldrin started toward him as well, but Tharkunn appeared out of the trees just then. He and Toranes shared a brief look, a few quiet words, and a nod before he disappeared back into the trees along the route that Toranes had used to come in. Blizzard trotted after him.

Of the travelers, only Gunthar, Halion and Reldrin were still awake. Halion sat near the fire, holding Myrian's hand. Tears flowed freely down the big man's face. He obviously believed he might lose his sister, but there was a light of hope glistening in his eyes when Toranes limped into the firelight.

Gunthar rushed to the other side of Toranes and helped Kyera support him on the way to the fire. The woodsman nodded his thanks to them both.

Gunthar also felt hope blossom in his heart at the woodsman's return, until he got a clear look at the purplish welt on his face. Between that and his limp, it was quite clear that Toranes had been in a fight. Had he failed? The concern and pain that Kyera felt at just seeing his injuries were plain on her face, but Toranes didn't seem to notice. As he helped lower the woodsman to the ground near the fire, he asked, "Did you find the herbs you were looking for?" Kyera shot him a look over Toranes' shoulder, but it softened immediately into one of sympathy and understanding.

"I did," Toranes answered. "I had to fight my way through a few orogs, but I got what we need." As he spoke, he opened the pouch and pulled out the fox fennel. Kyera produced a small stone mortar and pestle. He thanked her and pulled the rust colored tips off a handful of the reeds, dropping them into the bowl and began to grind them into a thick paste.

It was obvious to Gunthar that Kyera had seen him do this before. As he ground at the reeds, she reached over his shoulder with a wineskin and poured a trickle of dark red wine into the paste as he worked, thinning it quite a bit and darkening the tinge of it from a medium reddish-brown to a deep burgundy. She stoppered the wineskin and set it aside, then reached for the water she'd set to boiling. All of this was done without a word from Toranes.

After he'd finished with the paste, Toranes leaned forward and removed the bandages from Myrian's shoulder. The flesh around the wound was an angry red color, and it burned to the touch. He winced, just a bit, as a jolt of pain from the injury to his thigh ran up his leg. It was going to be a close thing.

He took a few seconds to wash his hands with hot water Kyera had poured into a small bowl. He dried them on a swatch of cloth she laid across his shoulder as he washed.

The concern in Halion's eyes was like a dagger to Gunthar's throat. He'd grown to love his companions, and not least of all the brother and sister, whom he thought of as his own younger siblings. He found himself silently urging Toranes to hurry.

The woodsman held the bowl of paste in his left hand and dipped the first two fingers of his right hand into the bowl. He gently rubbed the paste into the wound on Myrian's shoulder. She moaned and stirred a bit as the pain of his efforts managed to penetrate through the haze of her mind. He asked Halion to hold her still, and gently rubbed in a bit more, before he carefully lowered himself back down next to the fire.

"She'll be a'right now?" Halion asked hopefully in his thick brogue.

"I don't know yet," Toranes answered wearily, yet honestly. "The poison is powerful, and she was near to dying before I got back." The big man's face dropped a bit with every word. Toranes considered a moment and said, "I think I was in time, but there is still a chance that the fox fennel won't be enough." He started slathering the dark colored paste onto a fresh bandage, which he handed to Kyera. She used it to re-wrap Myrian's wounds. "With luck," he said, "even if it is not enough on its own, the fox fennel might just help her hold onto enough strength to last through until morning, when your friend," he gestured to Kaylin, "may call upon the Morninglord for a spell to cleanse her body of the poison."

When she was done re-bandaging Myrian's wound, Kyera produced a pair of small glass vials. She carefully scooped the remainder of Toranes' fox fennel paste into them and stoppered each one with a bit of cork. He'd used only about a third of what he'd created. When she was finished, she tucked the two vials into the pouch on Toranes' belt, which he'd removed and set aside.

Gunthar was still worried, but even now, he thought that Myrian's color was a little bit better already. He began a fervent prayer to Torm that he might watch over Myrian, and that he might give her the strength to fight through this. She certainly had enough courage to impress Torm the True. Sometimes, he thought, she could do with a bit less courage. For a moment, he wondered if Torm would consider such a thought blasphemy.

Toranes scooped up the rest of the fox fennel, he'd gathered, what he hadn't already ground up, and lifted the lid on the teakettle. He crushed it in his hand and sprinkled it into the tea water. As he finished, Kyera dropped down beside him and began to unwrap the hasty bandages he'd used on his leg. She hissed as she tugged it loose, and the wound began to bleed again. She tossed the blood-soaked cloth aside and set about cleaning and re-bandaging his wound. Toranes winced, but remained quiet. Seeing the wound, Gunthar was impressed that the half-elf had managed to walk back into the camp.

As she was finishing her work on Toranes, muttering under her breath, low enough that Gunthar could only make out about every seventh word, and none of the ones he heard very complimentary, Tharkunn appeared out of nowhere, seeming to just materialize out of the darkness. He stopped a few steps away and took another glance at Toranes. After a very brief pause, he asked in a gravelly voice, "Is he alright?"

"Yes he is," Toranes answered before Kyera could speak up. She simply nodded her confirmation.

"It's all quiet out there," Tharkunn said. "However many of them were left after the fight. They've certainly decided to try and find some easier prey. Blizzard and I finished a few who tried to hide nearby."

"Are you sure of that?" Gunthar asked. The man certainly seemed competent, but Gunthar judged him to be a man more at home in the city than in the wild.

"He's sure," Toranes said. "He looks like he belongs in Waterdeep, or Silverymoon, or even Baldur's Gate, but you'll find few men who are better trackers, short of another ranger." He laid himself back near the fire and closed his eyes. "Besides," he said, "I also saw them moving off, and from the little I heard of them, they had no desire to come back and fight again tonight. We should rest while we can."

Gunthar nodded to himself. Rest would be best for everyone. He decided he would take the first watch himself. Tharkunn disappeared back into the trees again. Gunthar made a small wager with himself that the man would not sleep at all.

Toranes opened one eye and looked at Kyera. "That tea should come off the fire in another ten minutes." He tilted his head toward Myrian, "She'll need to drink a cupful every two hours when she wakes."

Kyera smiled at him and nodded. "I know," she said softly. "You should rest now. I'll keep an eye on her." He nodded. "I'll wake you straight away if anything changes," she said. He smiled back at her and closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. Within moments, his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. She took the tea from the fire, allowed it to cool for fifteen minutes, then poured it into a waterskin, which she stoppered and set aside. She watched Toranes as he slept for a while, with a small smile on her face, and then checked on Myrian again before spreading out a blanket and lying down a few feet away.

Gunthar, feeling a bit more confident about Myrian's chances, peered off into the darkness. Although it was his intention to wake Reldrin after a few hours and get some rest himself, he instead wound up watching until dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE - A New Direction**

As the first gray light of the dawn began to show in the Eastern sky, Gunthar heard Kaylin rise behind him. She'd cried herself to sleep the night before, but on this day, she rose and began her morning prayers to Lathander. She would be alright, he knew. She was very strong.

He was amused to note that he'd won the wager he'd made with himself the night before. The man, Tharkunn, though he'd returned several times to check on things in the camp, was still out among the trees somewhere. The wolf had long since returned, and was even now curled up next to Toranes, her head resting lightly on his chest, her eyes closed. Gunthar couldn't help but shake his head every time he looked their way.

Kyera had been up several times to check on Myrian during the night, but at this point, she was asleep next to the girl. Reldrin, as usual, was snoring away, the sound like that of a logging team clearing a stubborn stump. Gunthar was amazed anyone could sleep through it.

Galarid and Tolmen were sleeping to either side of a'Launiira who had not yet regained consciousness, mercifully. Halion slept next to Myrian, fitfully, waking every hour or so to check on her. The girl herself was looking much better. Most of her color had returned and her breathing was deep and regular.

Gunthar watched as Kaylin, her morning devotions completed, bent over each of the companions, one at a time and called upon the power of Lathander to heal their wounds. She started with a'Launiira, after pausing a moment to check on Myrian, taking great care with her wounded arm. She shook her head, obviously not liking what she saw.

"What is it?" Gunthar asked quietly.

"Her shoulder has been shattered," Kaylin answered in obvious frustration, confirming what he'd suspected. "I can heal her wounds, and give her back some of her strength, but I doubt that even my most powerful spell of healing will repair the bone. There is just too much damage."

Gunthar nodded grimly, understanding her despair. As things were, unless they could find a powerful cleric soon, it was unlikely a'Launiira would ever regain full use of her left arm. The thought was very disturbing. He still found it odd at times that he could care so much about a dark elf. As a general rule, drow were the filth of the earth, evil to the core. But, a'Launiira was no ordinary drow. She'd proved herself a loyal and honest companion more times than he could remember. It was possible that she was the most kind-hearted being he ever met.

She'd found her way to the surface world nearly twenty years earlier, near Mulhorand. She'd met a priestess of Isis, the Mulhorandi goddess of magic, whom she now served herself, as both a priestess and a mage. He wondered if the injury to her shoulder would affect her ability to use her magic. He greatly feared that it would, and he knew her well enough to know that it would truly hurt her, far more than the physical injury ever could.

"We could carry her back to Neverwinter," he suggested, "to the Halls of Justice. Perhaps a priest there would be strong enough to heal her fully." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that he'd spoken his hopes, rather than truth, which Kaylin pointed out to him.

"They'd never even let us bring her into the city, let alone heal her." She paused and looked at him. "All they will see is a drow. They won't look any further." Gunthar simply nodded along as she spoke. "They might even go so far as to kill her and us just for being with her."

He knew her words for truth. Neverwinter was a fairly tolerant city, but like most others, all bets were off when it came to a drow. a'Launiira hadn't been inside a city with them, at least not without hiding her true nature, in more than two years.

As Kaylin began another prayer, calling on Lathander to heal a gash in Galarid's leg, and Gunthar watched, as always in awe of the ability of a cleric to call down the power of a god to do her bidding, they were both caught off their guard as Toranes spoke.

"There is a place you can take her where she won't be turned away, …or attacked, just for being what she is." Gunthar turned and looked down at him, but his eyes were still closed.

"Silverymoon," Gunthar guessed, remembering what Toranes had claimed the night before, about being a representative of High Lady Alustriel.

"Yes," was the simple reply.

"Is it true what they say," he asked, "that anyone of any race may enter that city?" He had trouble believing it himself, that any place could be that open.

"So long as they hold no evil intention," the half-elf said, his eyes opening, "then it is in fact true." Sensing that her master had awakened, Blizzard lifted her head and looked around. She stretched her fearsome jaws in a large yawn before laying her head back on his chest. Almost absentmindedly, he began to scratch softly behind her ears.

Toranes continued, "A drow would certainly be watched closely for a while, but she would be allowed in. And, with a word on her behalf, from someone, like say a priestess of the Morning Lord," he looked over at Kaylin, "I think it is safe to guarantee that she would be healed as well."

"It's a long way to go," Gunthar said. "Considering her condition, I don't know if she can wait that long." His mind was busy adding up the distance. At least three weeks hard riding, if they managed to procure horses.

"Five days," Toranes said, as if he'd been reading Gunthar's mind, "and we'll be in Silverymoon." He paused for a second, "Or more likely, make it six. We should rest for a day before we set out." Gunthar agreed with him on that last point. He'd had no intention of going far this day, just enough to be away from all the orc corpses. And they'd need to see to Addam and Melandra.

He couldn't help but wonder, how in the name of Torm did Toranes think he could get them all to Silverymoon in just six days? Kyera's magic? If so, she was quite powerful indeed, much more powerful than he'd originally suspected.

"And just how will you get us to Silverymoon in six days?" he asked. "It is near to six hundred miles away." There was a bit of suspicion in his voice. He couldn't help it.

Toranes just smiled. "We'll return to Neverwinter first, or at least some of us will."

"Neverwinter is a fine city, but they'll never let a drow through the gates. They certainly won't help us. And, besides, we'll be headed away from Silverymoon."

"You're right," Toranes answered. Behind him, Kyera began to rise, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Toranes went on, "I'm the only one who will need to actually enter the city."

"You'll bring a cleric out then?" Kaylin asked.

"No," Toranes sat up, and Blizzard started to rise until she saw he was not getting all the way up. "I'll get something we need from a friend, and we'll do the rest ourselves."

Gunthar thought for just a moment. He glanced at Kyera, who was checking on Myrian again. She looked up and saw him watching her. She smiled. Gunthar looked at Toranes again and said, "A scroll. You'll call upon a mage who is friendly to you, or to Lady Alustriel, and get a mage's scroll which Kyera will read to transport us all to Silverymoon, because she cannot cast such a spell on her own." He smiled at Kyera to show that he did not intend to question her abilities. She smiled back and moved to Toranes. He had closed his eyes again, and did not open them as she began to check his own bandages.

"Not quite," Toranes said. "I can get us a scroll, but it will not take us all the way to Silverymoon. We'll have to travel the last few miles on foot, perhaps a day and a half, maybe two, but I'll get horses and a wagon to carry a'Launiira, while I'm in the city."

"Gateway," Kyera said. "That's the scroll you'll ask for." Halion was now up and smiling down at his sister. She still slept, but her breathing was deep and regular, and her color was good.

"Yes," Toranes answered. "Guerrand does not know the Mass Teleport spell, but he does know Gateway, and he keeps a good supply of scrolls on hand. I'll leave in an hour or so for the city. I'll move more quickly on my own, and meet the rest of you a day's walk east of the Eastern Gate in three days." He scratched the wolf behind the ears again, and said, "I'll leave Blizzard with you. I wouldn't want some overzealous guardsman to put an arrow into her by mistake."

"Be careful," Tharkunn said, emerging from the trees. "There are still plenty of those orcs out there in the woods, though most fled North, not West. Perhaps I should go with you."

"No. You'll need to scout the way for our new friends," Toranes said. "I'll leave the usual signs."

Everyone was awake at this point, except Myrian and a'Launiira. A full round of introductions took place, as it had been problematic the night before. Kaylin healed Toranes' leg, and after gaining assurances of her safety from Toranes, she even healed Blizzard's wound from the orog's club, though she couldn't help but hold her breath as those golden eyes watched her, seeming almost too knowing. She continued to cast spells of healing until her complement of spells for the day was exhausted. Her most powerful spell was spent to be certain that all traces of poison were gone from Myrian's system.

Halion wrapped Toranes in a giant bear hug, when he rose, crushing the breath from him, and nearly prompting an attack from Blizzard until Tharkunn called her off. "I kin never thank ye enuff," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"No need, my large friend," Toranes said when he could breathe again. "I'm only pleased that we were able to save your sister's life."

The fire was stoked up, and breakfast was laid on by Tolmen and Kyera, made from rations taken from the packs of all who were there. Afterward, Toranes spoke quietly with Kyera and Tharkunn, and then left westward at a trot.

The others set about the grisly task of burying their lost friends and disposing of the orcish corpses. It took most of the day. By suppertime, Myrian and a'Launiira were awake. Neither was ready to move about much, especially a'Launiira, but both listened intently as Tolmen told them of their rescue the night before. He was a fine storyteller, imitating Tharkunn's gravelly voice, and pretending to fire a bow, even scampering about on all fours for a moment as he described Blizzard's attacks, which the wolf took as an invitation to play, leaping on the Halfling and pinning him to the ground as she lay upon him and licked his face, until Kyera called her off.

a'Launiira's arm had been securely bound to her side to keep it from shifting. She, especially, was somewhat incredulous when the plan to take her to Silverymoon for healing was revealed. She'd heard of the city, and of its policies, but she'd never truly believed. Even now, with Kyera's word, and with a confirming nod from the rather quiet Tharkunn, she feared to actually hope.

The following morning, after Kaylin had healed the last of their wounds, at least those she was capable of healing, they set out West toward Neverwinter. They moved slowly, keeping their pace down to what Myrian and a'Launiira could manage easily. At times, when one of them tired, Halion or Galarid would carry her for a while before resting.

Tharkun led the way, following signs he found along the way, a branch broken into three small sections, two small pile of pebbles, a leaf torn crossways in half, and so on. He seemed to know what they all meant at a glance.

Only once did they encounter a living enemy, a lone orc sniffed out by Blizzard while hiding under a fallen tree. The companions made short work of the creature. Two other orcish corpses lay nearby their path, one pierced with three arrows, and the other badly slashed.

Along the way, they laughed and joked, told stories, and cried for their lost friends. Even Kyera found tears in her eyes as the companions spoke of Addam and Melandra and how much they would be missed. She shared a hug with Kaylin, who still cried herself to sleep each night.

In two days, they were waiting, a day's walk from the Eastern Gate of Neverwinter, just as Toranes had specified. An hour before dusk, Toranes appeared with two young men. He rode a tall dappled grey mare, and led two other horses behind him. One of the young men rode a roan stallion, and led two more horses. The other drove a small wagon, pulled by a pair of large draft horses. A single horse was tied on behind the wagon, along with a pair of stout ponies. The wagon was loaded with supplies, and covered with a canvas tarp. A thick pallet of blankets, and even several pillows formed a comfortable place for a'Launiira to lie down, should she choose, on the wagon bed. Except for the cart horses, they all had the necessary riding accoutrements.

Toranes flipped a golden crown, with a portrait of Lady Alustriel on it, to each of the young men. They each snatched the coin out of the air, and a mirrored look of surprise appeared on their faces. "You did a fine job, lads," Toranes said. "You earned that. Thank you." Obviously, it was more than they had been promised for payment.

The young men smiled and looked around curiously until their eyes fell upon a'Launiira. They each froze. Toranes spoke again. "Everything is fine. You can go now. You have my word that no one will hurt you." They looked at one another, then at Toranes and nodded. They each got down from their perch, and began trotting back toward the city, occasionally looking back over their shoulders.

Shortly after they disappeared into the trees, Gunthar said, "They'll bring the guards back here soon."

"Yes," Toranes said, "We'll need to go tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR - The Gateway**

As soon as the two young men were out of sight, the campsite became a flurry of activity. Gunthar began issuing orders, most of which were not really necessary, as the companions knew quite well what needed to be done.

Toranes handed a rolled leather scroll case, which he produced from one of his saddlebags, to Kyera. She hugged him and welcomed him back before accepting it. Halion was next, wrapping him in a crushing embrace.

Several of the horses shied away, rolled their eyes, and stamped their hooves as Blizzard trotted up and stood on her hind legs, using Toranes' chest to support her front paws. Standing that way, she was nearly as tall as he. He rubbed her neck and upper back. She twisted her neck, playfully catching his forearm in her jaws and releasing him unharmed before trotting off to stand a few feet away. Gunthar and Kaylin worked to calm the horses.

A moment later, Myrian approached Toranes. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. She stood that way, unmoving, for several seconds, Toranes gently patting her back. Finally, she whispered into his chest, "Thank ye. Thank ye, fer me lyif."

He gently disengaged himself from her, cupped her chin with his hand, and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. They were pretty and a bright green, the color of a grassy meadow in full spring, and glistening with unshed tears. He said, "It was an honor to be of service to you, young lady." Without a hint of sarcasm, he smiled at her and bowed slightly.

As the companions worked to load all their gear into the wagon, or the empty saddlebags of the horses, Kyera and Myrian, who'd become very close over the past few days, stepped aside and unrolled the leather bundle Toranes had provided.

"By Mystra's hand," Kyera exclaimed. "There must be a dozen scrolls in here." Her eyes, and Myrian's, were wide with wonder.

"Fourteen," Toranes answered as he un-wrapped a choice cut of fresh venison he'd removed from his saddlebags, and tossed it to Blizzard. She caught it out of the air and trotted off a dozen yards or so, where she laid down and set to work devouring it. "I bought a pair of Gateway scrolls, just to be safe." He paused a moment as he re-buckled the strap on his saddlebags. Turning toward them, he continued. "The rest Guerrand sent as a gift,…for you."

"I must remember to thank him, when next we are here," she said, thumbing through the scrolls, taking a moment to examine each. She reached one about halfway through, and stopped. "I don't recognize this," she said, holding up the scroll in question.

Without looking up from his work, checking the saddle girth on one of the mounts he'd bought, Toranes said, "It is one of his own devising. He calls it Eldritch Enhancer."

"What does it do?" she asked, though she already had a guess.

"It allows you to prepare extra spells for every day it is in effect." Her shocked expression told those watching exactly how valuable she thought that to be. Myrian seemed quite thoughtful as well. Toranes continued, "You may not actually cast any extra spells, but it does expand your possible choices."

"And he just gave it to us?" she asked incredulously.

"No," Toranes said as he looked up, with just a hint of a smile. "He gave it to you."

"But, why?" she asked. "He is your friend."

"Because," Toranes replied, his smile firmly in place, "he is quite taken with you." He leaned down to lift the horse's hoof and examined it, and added, almost as an afterthought, "He has been since first you met."

Kyera's face flushed and she turned away. Her voice quavered just a bit as she said, "He is quite nice, but I can't say that I feel the same."

"He knows that," Toranes said, pausing in his work, all amusement gone from his voice, replaced by genuine warmth and concern for the feelings of both of his friends. "But, he maintains hope. Or, as he puts it, 'There is always tomorrow'."

It was at that moment, that a'Launiira approached them, clearing her throat to announce her presence. Toranes turned to face her, and he had to fight down his first instinct of mistrust and dislike for drow. In a warm, deep voice, he asked, "May I be of service Mistress a'Launiira?"

Her left arm was held tightly to her side in an improvised sling. He berated himself mentally for forgetting to pick up a better sling for her arm while in the city. She smiled timidly, and yet he couldn't help but notice how it made her face, already exquisite, even more beautiful.

When she spoke, her voice was light and musical sounding. "I have been told what you said, about how I will be received in Silverymoon," she said. "And both Kyera and Tharkunn have assured me that it is true…"

"But you'd like to hear it directly from me," Toranes said.

"It has been my experience for almost twenty years, that surface folk in general, will not tolerate a drow in their midst." After a short pause, she added, gesturing around to her companions with her good arm, "With a very few exceptions."

"And rightly so, in most cases," Toranes replied. She nodded her agreement, obviously not feeling insulted in the least by his truthful remark. "But, in Silverymoon, you'll be judged by your actions, not by your birth, or the actions of other drow." She broke into a full smile as he spoke, and he felt a lump form in his throat.

"I will caution you," he said, clearing his throat. "There will be some who will disdain you on sight. Some might even speak out against you and impugn you or your heritage. People are people, after all, and not all are capable, or willing to set aside such prejudices." Her smile faded some, and she nodded, obviously expecting no less. Toranes went on, "However, unlike most places, they will be the exception, not the rule."

"I understand," she said. Despite his warning at the end, she couldn't help but to look forward to seeing a place she wouldn't be turned away or attacked on sight.

As she turned, Toranes caught her right wrist in his left hand. Galarid, a few yards away, tensed and stopped his packing of a'Launiira's things onto the wagon, and watched with wary eyes. In his heart, Toranes could sense her decency, and he genuinely felt for her, and for her obvious desire to find a place in the world where she could fit in.

"When we reach the city," he said, "I will pledge for you. The city guards, even the High Lady herself will accept my word on your behalf."

She nodded once, her expression one of wonder mixed with delight. She bowed slightly and said in a soft voice, "I thank you." He released her wrist, and as she turned away toward the wagon, he spoke again.

"In fact," he said, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if Lady Hope wishes to meet you herself."

Twenty minutes later, all was ready. a'Launiira sat on the wagon seat next to Galarid. Before them, in rows of two each, standing with hands on the bridles of the mounts they'd chosen, were Tolmen and Reldrin, Halion and Myrian, Gunthar and Kaylin, and Tharkunn, leading his own horse and one for Kyera. Just off to one side, at the center of the clearing, Kyera stood, holding one of the scrolls. Toranes was astride his gray, leaning down low in the saddle to speak with her, using his knees to control the animal. Blizzard stood patiently a few yards away.

"Where exactly should I open the Gateway?" Kyera asked.

"I thought, perhaps, you could use the clearing at the Northwestern edge of the Silverwood," Toranes answered. "The one we used as a campsite last year, a few miles North of Lieri's grove. Do you remember it?"

"Of course," she said. "I think that is a fine choice." She turned to face the companions. "Are we ready?"

"We are indeed, Lady Kyera," Gunthar answered, somewhat formally.

"All right then," she said. She stepped away from Toranes and began to chant, reciting strange words of magic she read from the scroll, "_Insantimos Beltharadeu Melktenor Rhieezh."_ With her free hand, she traced the outline of a large rectangle in the air before her. A short distance ahead, the air began to ripple and waver as though seen at a great distance through a burning desert. Slowly, the scene behind the ripple changed. It was another clearing, but smaller, and the sky was slightly darker. The trees were different as well, more aspens and pines, fewer oaks and maples.

As soon as the image solidified, Toranes ducked low over the neck of his gray mare and heeled her through the opening, with Blizzard darting after him.

Myrian and a'Launiira, all the companions really, but those two in particular, gazed in awe at the magical passageway Kyera had formed. Both were able to cast spells of a magical nature, but neither was near capable of a spell that powerful, yet. Nor was Kyera, in truth.

A whistle carried from the other side of the Gateway, where Toranes had ridden out of sight. Tharkunn started forward at a trot, leading the horses through and turning almost immediately aside to the right. The others followed closely, each pair turning right or left, opposite the pair in front of them. Galarid drove the wagon through, straight ahead for several yards before stopping. Finally, Kyera stepped through, and as soon as she did, the Gateway wavered and vanished.

Kyera seemed just a tad unsteady. She stumbled a bit as the Gateway disappeared. Tharkunn was there in a flash, but not before Gunthar, who steadied her with an arm around her shoulders. "Are you alright, Lady Kyera?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "I'll be fine." She took a deep breath and said, "It was a powerful spell, far more powerful than I am capable of casting on my own."

"I thought the power came from the scroll itself," he said as he helped her to the back of the wagon, gently placing his hands on her waist and lifting her to a seat on the wagon's bed.

"It does, but it funneled through me to take effect." He frowned at that thought. She patted his shoulder. "Thank you. I'm just a bit tired. With a little rest, I'll be right as rain." He nodded once, smiled at her and went off to see to his mount.

The air this far north was even colder than it had been near the coast. Firewood was one of the things that Toranes had remembered to purchase, and have loaded on the wagon bed, enough for perhaps two nights. Reldrin set about moving some loose stones to form a fire pit, and getting a campfire going. The others saw to the horses and wagon, and took care of the myriad of details that went along with making a camp.

After twenty minutes or so, Toranes and Blizzard returned. He dismounted, leading the mare to the other horses and tethered her to a low hanging tree limb. "It's all quiet out there," he said, setting about caring for the mare. He soon joined the others in getting the camp set up.

As the twilight faded to complete darkness, a'Launiira stood off several feet from the fire and stared out into the darkness, at a tiny, flickering light many miles off to the Northeast in the darkness. "What is that?" she asked, pointing to the light.

With just a quick glance, Tharkunn answered, "Rauvinwatch Keep."

"A military outpost?" Gunthar asked, immediately interested.

"Yes," Tharkunn answered. "It is the headquarters for the Argent Legion."

"The Argent Legion?" Gunthar asked. "I've never heard of them. Who are they?"

This time it was Kyera who answered. "They are the combined military force of the cities that make up the League of the Silver Marches."

Toranes picked up where she left off. "When High Lady Alustriel convinced the rulers of the cities of the North that they should band together, share their strengths, the Silver Marches was born."

"Each city has its own forces, but Alustriel decided it would be wise to form the Legion as well, a force not designed to defend one city, but rather, all of them," Kyera jumped back in.

"There are Silveranean Knights-in-Silver, Everlundian pikemen and archers, Sundabarran infantry, and dwarven infantry from Mithril Hall, Citadel Adbar, and Citadel Felbarr," Toranes said.

"How many men are there in this Legion?" Gunthar asked.

"Maybe a total of twelve hundred or so," Toranes said. "About half of them are garrisoned there in Rauvinwatch. The others are spread out in garrisons amongst the outlying cities and towns of the Marches."

Gunthar looked thoughtful. He was always interested in the workings, strategy and history of any military force. Myrian asked, "Will they see our fire and come dowen here?" Galarid looked up at the light, then quickly over at a'Launiira.

Tolmen pronounced their evening stew ready, and began ladling out bowls to each of the companions from the pot. It was fresh vegetables and roots, with large chunks of salted pork, all of which Toranes had brought back with him.

"Doubtful, tonight at least," Toranes answered Myrian's question as he accepted a bowl of stew from Tolmen with a nod. "If they've noticed our fire, they might send a patrol in the morning to investigate, but they wouldn't arrive before tomorrow afternoon, mid-day or so, and by then we will be long gone from here. We may run into them on the road as we ride east though." He took a taste of the stew, using a wooden spoon, and was surprised at the delicious flavor. He nodded in appreciation to Tolmen. The halfling was a fine cook, indeed.

Galarid glanced at a'Launiira again, his forehead creased with a worried frown.

"Don't be alarmed," Kyera said. "So long as you are with us, no one will bother any of you." She smiled reassuringly at a'Launiira and Galarid. Both seemed to relax a bit.

The conversation turned to other things as they all enjoyed Tolmen's fine stew. Many of the stories and jokes that had been told over the last few days were repeated for Toranes' benefit. Later, at the prodding of the companions, he told them of his encounter with Nuruk and the other orogs. At the end of the tale, Myrian's eyes gleamed with unshed tears and Halion clapped Toranes on the back, nearly knocking him off the log he was using for a seat.

As the hour grew late, Toranes, after some prompting from Kyera, and even some from Tharkunn, produced a small leather harp case from his pack. He took a finely crafted duskwood harp from inside and strummed his fingers over the strings. After a few minor adjustments, he played a merry tune. The companions clapped along, even the normally reserved Tharkunn. Myrian pulled Gunthar to his feet and danced a jig around the firelight. Though he was reasonably light on his feet, Gunthar was no match for the graceful young woman.

As Toranes began a second reel, Myrian grabbed Tolmen, Kyera stepped in with Gunthar, and Galarid vainly tried to keep up with a spinning a'Launiira, who managed to make even Myrian seem clumsy.

Next, he played a somber elven melody about the fall of Myth Drannor, his deep, rich voice a fine accompaniment to the plaintive strains of the harp. Even those among the companions who could not speak the elven tongue in which he sang, found tears welling in the corners of their eyes, from the sheer sadness of the music.

On he played and sang, tunes both merry and sad, for over an hour before they settled in for the night to rest. A schedule was laid out, by Gunthar, for pairs to watch while the others rested. The companions drifted off one by one.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE - A Dark Plan**

An icy, bitter, Northern wind swept through the campsite, ruffling the black and purple sides of the silken tent. Inside, three men sat around a burning brazier, warming their hands and trying to take the chill from their bones.

Alvorin Drezid hugged his fur-lined cloak tighter around him and wished again for a spell to control temperature. He swore to himself that he would find a mage with scrolls to sell as soon as possible and buy a dozen, or perhaps he'd just kill him and take them. He could always just decide at the time. He rubbed his hands together over the brazier and longed to return to Zhentil Keep, and the shores of the Moonsea, where the winters were cold, but nothing like they were here in this frozen land.

He was a hale and hardy man, approaching fifty winters, but he looked more like forty. His hair was salt and peppered, including his well-trimmed beard. He was well dressed, in rich, thick gray robes, with several rings on each hand, two of which were actually enchanted.

He'd been sent here to this empty wilderness to scout out a location for a new Zhentish stronghold in the North, a job far beneath him. He didn't know how or when, but somehow he'd stumbled and fallen from favor with his superiors amongst the Zhentarim. He'd been given forty soldiers and told to find what allies he could locally, and to either find, build, or take a suitable stronghold.

He'd quickly learned that the North was a land of harsh weather and open wilderness, its far-flung cities the only centers of wealth and power, and almost all of them part of that witch Alustriel's League of the Silver Marches. Bah. It had taken him a very short time to discard his orders and form a new plan of his own devising.

Key to that plan were the two men who huddled round the brazier with him. They both shared his contempt for superiors they believed inept, and also his near unchecked desire for power. No, he decided, he couldn't have chosen two better men to help him succeed than Palodros Zandt and Durgin Kael.

Zandt was his man to the bone. A warrior, and a Zhent who was forever doomed to a middling rank due to a lack of vision and a weak grasp of strategy. It was exactly those traits which Alvorin liked about the man. He didn't have the imagination to conceive a betrayal, and, if given proper instructions, he was quite formidable in battle. Besides, Alvorin had long ago taken other steps to ensure Zandt's loyalty. Also, the forty men Zandt commanded all feared and respected him. His size alone intimidated many. He stood six foot seven with dark hair and brooding features. His skill with the bastard sword he carried was well known among his men. He too held his cloak close about him against the cold.

The third man, Kael, was the only one who seemed to be largely unaffected by the cold. He huddled in close to the brazier as well, but he alone didn't rub his hands over the burning coals, or snug his cloak about himself. Perhaps, Alvorin thought, it had something to do with the feverish light burning behind his eyes. He was a Doomscribe, a cleric devoted to Cyric, and just seeing him in his deep purple and black robes turned the bellies of some of the Zhent soldiers to water. Though thin, with hawkish features, Kael intimidated through sheer force of personality and will.

On the folding table in front of them, Alvorin had laid out a map, one he'd just recently recovered via a shadowy contact in Sundabar. It was this map which had brought them all to the northern edge of these, oh so aptly named, Cold Woods. Each corner of the map was held down by a small object. Alvorin's dagger held down the nearest corner.

He pointed with a finger, nearly blue with the cold, at a spot on the map. "We are here," he said in a voice that sounded like a rusty saw scraping across stone. It was his permanent voice, the result of a near fatal encounter over thirty years earlier. The voice and the long scar running from the bottom of his right ear to near the top of his breastbone were continual reminders.

"The caves we seek are to the North of us, in the foothills of the Spine of the World," he said.

"And this book you say will make us all rich for life, it is in the caves?" Zandt asked.

"The book itself will not make us rich, but the information it holds will lead us to treasures beyond your feeble imagination," Alvorin croaked.

"Wealth is power," Kael said in his whispery voice. "Do not disregard mere wealth so quickly Alvorin," he advised.

"Of course not," Alvorin said. "We will take all of value that we find, as usual, but above all we must have the Journal of Wong Tze."

"What will we be facing in these caves?" Zandt asked. As usual, his mind went directly to the possibility of battle.

"According to my sources of information, the caves are now the home of a nest of particularly nasty hobgoblins. A small tribe perhaps, but not to be taken too lightly," Alvorin said.

"Now?" Kale asked in his eerie whisper. "What called them home before?"

"Long ago, and much deeper down, on a level the filthy humanoids have not yet discovered, a clan of gnomes once made their home."

"What happened to the gnomes?" Zandt asked.

"Killed to the last more than five hundred years ago by a shadow dragon, named Darkmanterminus who still haunts the North to this day," Alvorin answered almost absent-mindedly, his mind on the ultimate prize the journal would lead them to.

The sharp intake of breath, from both of his companions brought him back to the moment. _"Good," _he thought. _"At least they both have enough sense to be frightened by that."_

Out loud, he reassured them, "The dragon itself has not been reported in this area in more than a hundred years." A palpable sense of relief filled the tent.

"We will either destroy the beasts and take the caves by force, or, if they have any intelligence at all, we will convince them to save themselves by serving us, thus strengthening our own forces," Alvorin outlined his plan.

"Perhaps a challenge issued to the strongest of them," Zandt said, fingering the hilt of his blade with a hopeful look. "Seeing him destroyed might quell the rest of them."

Alvorin smiled at Zandt's predictable thought, though truthfully, he'd been thinking along similar lines himself. He wanted to waste as few men as possible taking the caves, and if he could turn the humanoids to his service, they would make fine fodder in minor combats, saving his men for more important matters.

"Even if you must kill them all," Kael said, turning to face Zandt,

"they can still be made to serve."

The eagerness in his voice sent a fresh chill down Alvorin's already frozen spine. Undead could be tolerated, even useful in certain situations, but he personally found them to be more than a bit distasteful most of the time. Kael seemed to be all but obsessed with them.

"Send your scouts out at first light," he told Zandt. "I want that book within the month. And then we will take the next steps upon our road to true power." Zandt nodded and edged closer to the fire. Alvorin dreamed of the power to come, and the thought helped push back the night's chill just a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX - A Knight's Tale**

As the walls of Silverymoon came into sight, the companions collectively marveled at the sight. The city was not called the Gem of the North without cause.

Gleaming marble towers, slender spires, and silvery domes rose high above the city walls, as though reaching for the heavens. The land around was green and pastoral, with fields, and farms, and farmers working their land. A sense of peace and prosperity seemed to have settled on the city and its surrounding environs.

For the first time in her life, at least since she'd left the Underdark, a'Launiira felt more excitement than fear, or dread, as a city drew near. She believed her new friends, perhaps because she wanted so much to believe them, that this place would be different. She caught herself biting her lower lip in anticipation. She resisted the urge to hide her face in the deep hood of her cloak.

On the wagon seat next to her, Galarid was wary. She could sense how tense he was, coiled like a spring. He would die defending her, she knew, if it were to become necessary. It was only one, and not the most important, reason why she loved him. It was another thing she found almost unbelievable about herself, that she could have come to love a human man.

Close to half a mile from the city walls, Toranes stopped and dismounted. He whistled for Blizzard and she came bounding from one of the fields. As she approached, he removed a heavy leather collar and a long braided leather leash from his saddlebags. She sat next to him, on her haunches, as he secured the collar around her neck, and the leash to the collar. She whined as he secured it in place, and he scratched her ears and said, "I'm sorry girl, but it has to be. Wouldn't want people to panic now, would you." She whined again in response, but trotted alongside his horse the rest of the way, a fact that the horse was not overly happy with, but Toranes was a skilled rider, and he kept the animal well in hand.

A small band rode forth from the city's Southern Gate, angling directly toward the companions, neither hurrying, nor dawdling. All wore armor, polished to a high shine, off of which the sun glinted brightly. They all carried lances tucked into their stirrups, the tips pointed up toward the sky at precisely the same angle. Their leader was a dark haired man with an unsmiling face. His breastplate was emblazoned with the crescent moon emblem of Silverymoon, and a braided golden cord dangled from his shoulder, with two knots, indicating rank of some sort. The patrol, ten men in all, pulled up ten yards short of Toranes and Kyera, who rode at the front of the companions when their leader lifted his gauntleted fist. He dismounted and strode toward them.

"Well met, Sir Doriego, Lady Trajan," he said in a deep voice, and though it never touched his lips, there was a smile in his dark brown eyes.

He bowed slightly to each of them as he spoke.

"Well met, Sir Insaldren," Toranes answered, bowing slightly in his saddle. Kyera added a greeting of her own.

"My orders are to escort your party directly to the Palace," Insaldren said, raising his voice enough for all the companions to hear clearly. a'Launiira felt Galarid tense on the seat next to her.

"Of course," Toranes said. "Lead on, and we shall follow." Insaldren nodded once and turned back toward his horse, a large black charger. Toranes spoke again, "Could you spare one of your men to escort our new friends to the Wayward House. Have him tell Chamberlain Jhalessa I sent them. Good rooms, mind."

Insaldren stopped and turned. He merely shook his head. "I'm to bring you _all_ to the Palace."

Toranes and Kyera both looked thoughtful. a'Launiira's stomach fluttered a bit. She could hear Galarid grinding his teeth beside her. He obviously feared the worst. His hand began to slide almost imperceptibly toward his sword.

The knight, Insaldren, mounted then and spoke in a loud and clear voice, to all of them, but it was a'Launiira he faced when he spoke. "The High Lady Alustriel gave me my orders herself. She bade me welcome you _**all**_," There was clear emphasis on that last word.

"She looks forward to meeting with you," he went on, "as soon as her daily schedule will permit." This time, he looked a'Launiira directly in the eyes and said, "Most especially with you, Mistress t'Orgh." He actually smiled for the first time, and Halion found himself just slightly surprised that he actually had teeth. Insaldren said, "The High Lady has never met a priestess of Isis, and she greatly looks forward to discussing matters of magic with you."

With that, he mounted back up. He bowed slightly from his saddle to Gunthar, saluting the Waterdhavian knight, fist to chest. Gunthar returned the salute and smiled. His faith in Toranes and his friends having proven well founded.

As they rode back toward the walls, Gunthar rode up next to Toranes and Insaldren. The patrol fell in behind the companions. "Sir Doriego?" he asked. "You are a knight?"

"Not really," Toranes answered, just as Insaldren said, "He is indeed."

The confusion was obvious on Gunthar's face. Insaldren chuckled and said, "He _**is**_ a knight. I was there when the High Lady knighted him, though he has always maintained that it was undeserved."

"I see," Gunthar said, though his voice made it plain he did not.

"I did only what needed to be done," Toranes said, "what you would have done had you been in my place Viktor."

"Exactly," Insaldren said, "though I doubt I'd have succeeded as you did."

"What happened?" Gunthar asked, his curiosity now thoroughly piqued. He barely even noticed as they rode through the grand gates in the thirty foot walls.

Behind him, he heard the exclamations of his companions as they rode into the city, heard them chattering about the immaculate cobblestone streets, the beautiful buildings, the fine architecture, and the open feel of the city, only reinforced by the many parks and the wide, tree lined avenues.

Insaldren said, "Several years ago, a patrol of twelve knights rode North along the Eastern edge of the Moonwood. They were looking for a group of bandits, who had raided several caravans coming to or from Citadel Felbarr. Sir Doriego was the tracker for that expedition, though he was not yet a knight at the time."

Gunthar rode on, his attention almost fully on Insaldren, though he occasionally glanced over at Toranes. The half-elf seemed neither concerned, nor even interested, in the story Insaldren told.

"As they set camp one evening, Sir Doriego warned the commander of the patrol he'd seen signs of orcs to the West. The commander, a headstrong man named Daltren, ordered him to continue Northeast at first light, following the bandits' tracks. The following day, he led them on, stopping back every few hours to update them. He knew he was close. Near the end of that next day, while scouting ahead of the patrol, he found the bandit campsite."

Gunthar was very much caught up in the story now, as was Halion, who had ridden up beside him.

Insaldren went on. "There were eleven men, all armed with bows and swords. No match for a dozen trained knights. Sir Doriego snuck up close in the darkness and listened as they talked over their plans to attack a caravan North of their own position that their scouts had spotted during the day. They planned their raid for noon the following day. The bandit scouts reported seeing only three caravan guards."

Insaldren looked straight ahead as he spoke, as if he were envisioning what he described. "Sir Doriego slipped away quietly and returned to the knights' campsite to report on what he'd heard. When he arrived, he found a battle had been fought. It was obvious that several dozen orcs had attacked the campsite in the night. Eight of the knights lay dead, including the commander. The others had been dragged off. The horses had either been butchered or scattered. More than forty orcs had been killed in the fight."

Several small beads of sweat appeared on Insaldren's forehead as he went on. "He took a moment to gather what he could, which might be of use, from the campsite, then began to track the creatures back through the forest. He followed them for several miles through the darkness. Eventually, he found the orcish campsite in a large clearing. The four knights were being held off to one side, bound and unconscious. The orcs were reveling over their victory. Over a large fire, they were roasting meat, of questionable origin. Many, perhaps most, were drunk on foul-tasting orcish grog."

It was clear now to Gunthar that Insaldren was speaking from memory. He seemed to ride on instinct, almost completely lost in the past. "Sir Doriego circled the campsite carefully, twice killing lone orcish sentries who ventured too close. He took a few minutes to plan what he intended to do, and then he snuck in amongst them. He killed a pair of orcs guarding the knights and lifted the first man up onto his shoulders. He moved as slowly and quietly as he could, carrying the man from the orcish camp, out into the woods. He followed the route he'd used to come in. Along the way, he'd seen a tree stand, most likely built by hunters out of Quaevaar, just large enough for a few men. He carried the man to the stand, and gently lowered him to the ground."

"Not quite so gently as I recall," Toranes said quietly. "I fear the man had a broken rib at the time, and the pain was surely quite bad." It was the first Toranes had spoken since the story began.

Insaldren glanced over at him, but merely picked up where he had left off. "Sir Doriego climbed up to the stand and secured a rope to a strong limb. He climbed back down and rigged the knight with an improvised rope harness. He then climbed back up and used the rope to haul the knight up into the tree."

"I'd never have gotten him up if he wasn't able to climb a bit himself," Toranes said. "Even after removing his armor he was quite heavy."

Insaldren waited for him to finish, then continued. "Once he'd managed to get the man into the tree stand, Sir Doriego bandaged his wounds as best he could before returning to the orcish camp. He repeated the whole procedure three times, killing several more orcish sentries along the way. Three of the four knights survived. By the time he had managed to get the last of them up into the tree stand, it was almost dawn. By then, the first knight he had saved, had recovered a bit, and insisted on traveling with him when he set out to warn the caravan."

Gunthar and Halion exchanged looks. They both believed every word Insaldren had said. They'd seen the proof of Toranes' will and resolve. They listened raptly as Insaldren finished his tale. He said, "Lord Doriego argued against it, but the stubborn knight, who was technically in command at that point, as he was the only knight who was conscious, insisted. He led them back to where he had left his own horse, supporting the knight whenever he stumbled. They took turns riding and running alongside the horse, though the truth be told, Sir Doriego's turns at riding were rather short.

Just before noon, they crested a rise several miles Northeast of the edge of the forest and came upon a rather frightening scene. The caravan, four wagons in all was already under attack. Two of the three caravan guards were already down. The wagon drivers, the final guard and, even the caravan master himself were all on the ground, defending a single wagon. The lone remaining guard was trying to lead them in the defense. Only a single bandit was down at that point. The knight booted the horse forward, crying out the battle cry of Silverymoon. Sir Doriego set to work with his bow from the hilltop, all the while advancing. He would take two shots and run for twenty yards, two more shots and run twenty yards again, until he was close enough to draw his saber and charge. At the end of the battle, the knight had been wounded again, and two of the wagon drivers had been killed, but seven bandits were dead, one more had been captured, and the rest run off. Sir Doriego, himself, had eventually engaged the bandit leader in close combat. Though victorious, he'd taken several serious wounds himself. But, the caravan had been saved."

Kyera's voice surprised Gunthar and Halion, who'd been so caught up in the story that they hadn't heard her approach. She said, "To this day, my father sends a fine horse to Toranes every year on the anniversary of that battle."

"Your father…," Gunthar said, somewhat confused.

"Yes," she replied. "He is a merchant in this city. The caravan was his. It was me they were defending in that last wagon. I was returning from Citadel Felbarr where father had sent me to learn from a gnomish scholar named Harbrenturial Gangalfraggen. He'd arranged for me to become apprenticed to Emirikol del'Nuron, here in the city, that I might fulfill my dream of practicing the arts of magic."

"What happened to the other knights?" Gunthar asked.

"On the way back," Insaldren said, "their bodies were recovered, as were the wounded knights. The bodies were returned to the city for burial. The orcs never did find out how the knights escaped. Upon his return to the city, the High Lady, having heard of his bravery and actions, knighted him."

"A fine tale," Halion said with a smile for Toranes. Gunthar was surprised to realize they were riding through another gate in another high wall. Before them the Palace of Silverymoon rose toward the sky, a splendid sight in pale white marble, with carvings of moons and unicorns on the walls.

A squadron of armed soldiers saluted them as they rode in through the gates. Insaldren and Toranes, and even Gunthar, by pure reflex, returned the salute.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Toranes' mouth.

"What is it?" Gunthar asked, noting the woodsman's amusement.

"He's taken great pleasure in telling you all about my exploits," Toranes said, nodding his head toward Insaldren, "but did you notice how he specifically left out the name of the knight who helped me defend the caravan?"

"Aye, it's true," Halion said. "He never gave the nayem."

"It was you," Gunthar said, looking at Insaldren. "I thought it might be so." Insaldren nodded once. "And you were the one who told the High Lady about him," Gunthar went on.

"Yes," Insaldren said simply.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN - Lady Hope**

The Palace was truly a sight to behold. Even Gunthar, who had long served the Lords of Waterdeep, had never been in a place so grand. The floors were made of marble tiles, white, veined with blue. There were gold flecks in the grout, and rich tapestries hung from the walls, in silk and other fine fabrics.

Each niche along the walls held beautiful vases or figurines in fine porcelain or pitchers of gold or silver. A page in a dark blue tabard with the symbol of the city upon the breast led them through a number of hallways. All the companions, with the exception of Toranes, Tharkunn, and Kyera stared about wide eyed. The page eyed Blizzard nervously as she trotted along next to Toranes, no longer confined by leash and collar.

Eventually, he turned down a hallway, with several fine Calishite rugs lining the floor. The doors to several rooms stood open, with a page beside each of them. An immaculate dwarf, with a pristine white beard and a tiny silver warhammer at his belt stood in the center of the hall. Toranes stepped forward and bowed deeply.

The dwarf had a deep voice, but cultured, with none of the rumble and anger found in so many others of his race. He was eloquent, and precise in his language. "Sir Doriego, Lady Trajan, you and your party are welcome here."

"Thank you, Master Fret," Toranes said.

"These rooms have been prepared for you. The pages will fetch whatever you need." He turned and faced the others. "My name is Fret Mithrilhammer. I am the steward for High Lady Alustriel, and in her name I welcome you all. She wishes to dine with you all this evening, an hour past sundown in the Lady's Private Dining Hall. Sir Doriego, Lady Trajan or Master Doressin can guide you."

He stopped a moment to let them speak if they wished. Gunthar spoke up, "We are most grateful for the hospitality of both yourself, and of the High Lady, Master Fret."

"It is a small thing, and we are pleased to have you here," Fret said. "I have ordered baths drawn for each of you. I am sure you'd like to clean up after a week or more on the road." Most of the companions nodded as they thought how good a hot, luxurious bath would feel. "The pages will show you the way," Fret said. "The Lady has ordered new clothes made for each of you as well. The seamstresses and tailors will take your measurements before you bathe, and will have your clothes ready by this evening for supper."

"That is most kind, but not really necessary," Kaylin said.

"The Lady wishes for you to be comfortable," Fret said. "The clothes are a gift, and not a large one. Please, enjoy them," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have several matters I must attend to. I leave you in the capable hands of Sir Toranes." He turned and strode off, but not before noticing a tiny bit of lint on his sleeve, and brushing it off.

The rooms were spacious and finely appointed, with two large beds in each, with a clothes chest at the foot of each bed, a large table with a basin and a bowl with warm water for freshening up, a large stand-mirror, a cushioned chair and a desk. A single, large armoire stood in one corner.

The companions paired off, Kaylin and a'Launiira, Myrian and Kyera, Gunthar and Tolmen, Reldrin and Halion, Galarid and Tharkunn. Toranes had a room for himself and Blizzard.

Moments after they settled in, the tailors and seamstresses arrived, fussing over each of them, taking measurements and fiddling with colored swatches of cloth. Next was a long, hot bath, washing away the grime of a week on the road, longer for Gunthar and his friends.

Kyera led the newcomers on a tour of the Palace, showing them everything from the gardens to the main dining hall. They goggled at everything. The servants, though some did seem a bit surprised to see a drow, were all polite and helpful. The guardsmen in their shining armor were all courteous. They returned to their rooms shortly before dinner.

It wasn't long after they returned to their rooms that their new clothes arrived. A small army of seamstresses and tailors must have gone to work immediately. There were fine dresses, in silk for the women, and silk shirts with fine wool coats, plain but well cut, for the men, and new breeches of fine quality linen. Halion found that his kilt had been laundered, and mended, and was laid out on his bed.

They were soon on their way to the Lady's Private Dining Hall, following a page sent to escort them. Toranes and Kyera led the way, followed by Gunthar and Tharkunn. Most of the companions fidgeted, worried that their clothes, or hair, or some other aspect of their appearance would fail to be appropriate for dining with a woman who was in almost all ways the equal of a queen, and with more power and authority than many who currently held a throne.

Toranes and his friends were the exception. They knew quite well that Alustriel would as soon have met them in a tavern, each still weary and grimy from the road, and she would have cared not a whit. The new clothes and the Private Dining Hall were merely an attempt on her part to show them, in some way, how welcome they were, and after all, they were already in the Palace. She may have held the power at least equal to a queen, but she rarely put on such airs, at least not in a private setting.

He and his friends had been gone from the city for near enough two months, and he found his pulse quickening just a bit as they rounded the corner into the hallway that led to the Lady's Private Dining Hall. Like fully half the men who lived in the city, he was more than a little bit in love with the High Lady. Her great beauty and incredible grace were only a small part of it. She was intelligent and thoughtful, caring for all those in her city, great or small, high or low. He'd never known another woman quite like her.

The page opened the doors to the dining hall, and announced them to the room, "Sir Doriego and his party, including Lady Trajan and Sir Silvershield of Waterdeep."

They filed in until they had formed a long line before the table, with Toranes on the far left and Tharkunn to the far right. Gunthar was the first to bow, with all the others not far behind, even Reldrin, who never seemed interested in authority figures of any kind.

Seated at the far end of the large, long table, was a stunningly beautiful woman in a regal blue dress. Tiny motes of light in silver and gold, purple and white, and blue, seemed to dance around her wrists and her temples. She had long silvery hair which seemed to shine in the torchlight, and a slender, supple figure. Her face was a breathtaking mixture of the creamy-skinned beauty of youth, mixed with the wisdom of age, with a touch of mirth and an expression which seemed designed to set one at ease.

To her right, an aged man, with white hair, and a long white beard was seated. He wore thick white robes, and around his neck was a silver unicorn's head medallion on a thick silver chain. A long, wooden staff, capped with a similar unicorn's head in gleaming silver was propped up next to his chair. He smiled as the party entered, and rose when Alustriel did. His sure and easy movements belied his apparent age.

"Welcome friends," Alustriel said, her voice soft, like silk. "I am pleased to have you here." She gestured to the chairs around the table. "Please be seated. As you are all aware, I am Alustriel Silverhand, High Lady of the League of Silver Marches." Placing a slim hand on the shoulder of the old man, she said, "And, this is Taern 'Thunderspells' Hornblade, High Mage of Silverymoon." The man inclined his head, slightly to the companions by way of greeting.

The table was fully laden with silver platters and fine porcelain dishes, piled high with fruits and vegetables, meats and cheeses, breads and pastries. At each place, a pair of crystal goblets had been set. Around the table there were numerous pitchers made of glass, porcelain, or silver, many gleaming with condensation. They held wine of several different vintages, water, milk, mead, even Silveranean blackberry brandy. There were no servants in sight.

As they began to move toward seats of their choosing, Toranes spoke, "Thank you Lady Alustriel. It is our pleasure to have come home, and to such an honor as this. We are undeserving."

"Oh pish-posh," she cut him off. "Are you already trying to get under my skin _Sir Doriego_?" she asked. There was definite emphasis on Toranes' title. They all froze in their tracks. Some of the companions looked about as though a bit worried. Was she angry about something? Was it wise to upset a queen? Had they been less worried, they might have noticed the amused twinkle in her eyes.

"Of course not," Toranes said, suppressing a laugh. "Allow me to introduce our new friends." As each one stepped up next to him, he gave their name, city of birth, and any titles he knew them to hold. "Lady Alustriel, may I present Sir Gunthar Silvershield, knight of Torm, from the Silvershield family of Waterdeep."

Gunthar bowed again, deeply and said, "An honor, my lady."

Alustriel smiled and thanked him, but said, "Thank you Sir Silvershield. I will call you Gunthar if I may, and as Toranes knows _**full well**_, unless matters of state require otherwise, I prefer to be called simply Alustriel."

Surprise was evident on the faces of several of the companions. Gunthar was only put off for a second, recovering smoothly, "Very well, Alustriel. It is an honor." He took a seat next to Taern, offering a hand, which the old man took and shook with a firm grip.

Toranes went on, introducing each of the companions until only Kyera and Tharkunn remained. "Halion MacTavish, warrior of Caer Callidyrr in the Moonshaes, and his sister, Myrain MacTavish of Caer Callidyrr, Apprentice of the magical arts. Reldrin Warhammer, good dwarf of Citadel Adbar. Tolmen Hobnobbin, halfling Scout from Leilon. Morninglady Kaylin Valinde of Elturel. Galarid Olduren, warrior of Baldur's Gate. a'Launiira t'Orgh of Ched Nesad, priestess of Isis. These other two rascals you already know," he gestured to Kyera and Tharkunn.

As he introduced each of them, Alustriel and Taern each smiled and bade them welcome. Her smile was not a whit smaller or less warm for a'Launiira than any of the others. At his jest about Kyera and Tharkunn, Alustriel just laughed, a light and merry sound like the tinkling of tiny bells, and said, "I believe it is you who are the rascal, and they merely your keepers."

"Of course," he replied solemnly. "I'd be lost without them," and that sounded heartfelt and sincere. What followed over the next hour was akin to a family meal, with conversation and open discussion, and a fair bit of good-natured teasing. Both Alustriel and Taern were very interested in the companions and their histories, individual and group. Upon hearing of the deaths of Addam and Melandra in the battle with the orcs, they shared the sorrow of the companions. Alustriel went so far as to wrap Kaylin in her arms when tears began to fall.

As the meal wound down, the servants did appear, clearing away the plates and platters, pitchers and trays. In their place, they left several large bowls of mixed or salted nuts, and a number of fresh pitchers with cold, clear water, or watered-down wine. Alustriel engaged a'Launiira in a conversation on the nature of Isis, and did quite a bit of explaining herself about the nature of Mystra. She also spoke to Myrian, at length, about the Lady's College, a consortium of schools within the city where young mages learned the Art. She suggested that the young woman might consider enrolling. Classes were half over for the year, but perhaps the next semester. She even offered to put in a good word with the head of the school.

"I took the liberty of arranging a meeting in the morning for you, with Morninglord Holdoris," Alustriel told them shortly after Taern had excused himself to see to important duties he'd set aside for the meal. "I've already discussed your situation with him," she touched a'Launiira lightly on her good shoulder, "and he has agreed to meet with you. And, if he is satisfied with the meeting, and with Kaylin's word on your behalf, I believe he will Heal your shoulder." The capital was plain in her voice.

Gunthar couldn't help but to be somewhat disappointed when the High Lady announced her need to return her attention to the business of the city, and he was not alone in his feeling. "I have truly enjoyed this," Alustriel said. "I hope that you will all enjoy your stay here." Her gaze seemed to take in each one of them and silently impart that her wish was meant for them especially.

Her eyes lingered a moment on Toranes and she said, "I would like to meet with you all again, in a day or two." Not a soul in the room was upset with that prospect. "I may have a task that you could help me with, but I will know more then." With one more round of goodbyes and bows, she swept from the room, seeming to simply glide across the floor.

"Now tha's a queen," Halion said as soon as the doors had closed behind her, "ne'er mind wha' her tytel claims."

Gunthar nodded in agreement, and muttered under his breath, "A man could be damned well proud to serve a woman like that." Tharkunn just chuckled under his breath, and Myrian and Kaylin shared a giggle.

"What is this task she spoke of?" Galarid asked, settling into his chair, and lighting a pipe with a fig he held for a moment in the fire.

"Whatever it is, I'd be inclined to say yes, just in thanks for the fine meal and the taste of thick Adbarran mead," Reldrin said in his baritone rumble.

"I don't know," Toranes answered. "But for her to bring it up, yet not share more than she did, it must be important." Kyera nodded in agreement, a worried look on her face which, surprisingly, did nothing to mar her delicate features. Toranes went on, "And, it is most likely something not yet well known or she would have spoken more openly. I believe it best for now if we keep it amongst ourselves."

They all agreed to heed his advice and another hour of socializing and drinking transpired before they headed off to their beds. Toranes shared a brief look with Kyera and Tharkunn, and an observant Gunthar before closing his door and settling in for a fitful night's sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT - Whole Again**

The following morning dawned bright and early. As was her normal custom, a'Launiira rose with the first rays of sunlight. Though it hurt her sensitive drow eyes, she never missed the opportunity to view the beauty of a sunrise, if she could help it. As she expected, Kaylin was up even before her, making her morning devotions to Lathander.

After taking a few moments to freshen up and get dressed, a'Launiira stepped out into the hall. She wandered down the hall, and then several others, until she was hopelessly lost. Eventually, she came upon a page, who politely directed her to a small courtyard where she could watch the morning sun come up. He seemed slightly frightened of her, but he maintained his composure admirably, she thought, under the circumstances.

As she approached the courtyard, she heard the sounds of wood clacking against wood. She opened the door and saw Tharkunn and Toranes, stripped to the waist, circling one another on the cobblestone walk. Each had a sword made of bundled wooden lathes, and the hair was slicked to the sides of both of their heads with sweat.

They circled one another warily, though they both paused long enough to acknowledge her presence with a quick nod, and in Toranes' case, a smile. She worked her way around them to a small bench, where she sat for fifteen minutes, watching the morning and the two men about equally.

By the time they'd finished, each one bore several red welts where a thrust or swing from the other had managed to slip through. They bid her a good morning and headed off to clean up, leaving a'Launiira alone in the courtyard. She sat a few moments longer, before rising to leave. She turned back to the door and found Kaylin standing there. With her was a tall, slender man, dressed in the rich red and yellow robes of a priest of Lathander. The stern look upon his face was not exactly comforting. She had no doubt that this was Morninglord Holdoris. She did her best to smile and began to glide across the courtyard toward them.

Kaylin said, "Morninglord Holdoris, may I present a'Launiira t'Orgh of Ched Nesad, Priestess of Isis and a follower of the magical arts." He nodded once, without speaking. a'Launiira doubted he even realized he was frowning.

a'Launiira extended a hand and said in a voice of crystal chimes, "I am very pleased to meet you, sir." The Morninglord's frown deepened a bit as she reached out, and she instinctively began to withdraw her hand. Kaylin took in a deep breath, obviously not liking the way things were going.

a'Launiira's hopes began to fall. As she tried to maintain her smile, she looked up into the eyes of the Morninglord. They were dark brown, with a mixture of concern and, was it fear?

It was at that moment that the door opened again, and Alustriel swept out into the courtyard. Her white dress gleamed in the morning sunlight, and her smile was radiant. Her voice was warmth itself as she spoke to the Morninglord. "Welcome back to the Palace, Holdoris."

"High Lady," he bowed deeply, his voice deep and rich, and at least somewhat self-important.

"I see you've met my new friends," Alustriel said, moving to stand beside a'Launiira. "I'm so glad you've agreed to help."

By his look, it seemed quite clear that he hadn't agreed to any such thing. However, after a moment, he took a breath and cleared his throat. "Arrumph, yes, well, I suppose I should examine this young lady's shoulder," he said. a'Launiira stifled a mirthful chuckle. She was at least one hundred years older than the Morninglord, despite her youthful appearance and beauty.

As he took a careful look at her shoulder, Kaylin helping to slide the shoulder of her dress down to expose it, a'Launiira shared a secret smile with Alustriel, who threw her a wink.

Holdoris made a show of carefully examining the wound and shaking his head as though he was unsure of, or unhappy with what he saw. After a few minutes, he began to pray to Lathander, calling upon the Morninglord to repair the shattered bones in a'Launiira's shoulder. As he completed the prayer, he gently placed his hands over her shoulder, and waved them gently over the top. Though she'd seen the like before, Kaylin couldn't help but wince as the skin beneath his hands wriggled and writhed as the bones set themselves into place and were fused together, good as new, thanks to the Morninglord's spell. There appeared to be fairly little pain involved, and what pain there was a'Launiira bore with no more than a slight grimace.

When he had finished, Holdoris stepped back and managed a smile that somehow seemed to be supportive, and yet condescending at the same time. She offered him a radiant smile in return. She couldn't help but to spin around and laugh as she lifted the arm above her head, and followed by throwing her arms around Kaylin, then Alustriel, and finally Holdoris, who bore the indiscretion as best he could before excusing himself, claiming duties back at the temple. His complexion, though, was ashen. Alustriel shared another smile with the women, then offered to walk him out, already talking of an upcoming ceremony he was to attend.

a'Launiira and Kaylin returned to their room together. They were greeted warmly by their companions, all of whom were overjoyed to see their friend whole again, in body, and also in spirit, as was obviously the case.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE - The Task at Hand**

The companions spent the day wandering the city, popping in and out of inns and small shops, strolling down the wide, tree-lined avenues, goggling at the beautiful parks, towers, and domes. Toranes and Kyera served as guides, and Tharkunn to begin, though he slipped away early on, claiming some sort of private business.

Toranes wore a tabard, with the symbol of the Palace Guard, which served to ease the tensions many felt at their first sight of a'Launiira. A drow is always dangerous, but if she was in the company of a Palace Guardsman, her presence in the city must be known and sanctioned. She still received the odd look, and occasionally, a slur was cast her way by some passerby, but for the most part, she'd never been so well received anywhere on the surface world. She basked in the ability to walk with the hood of her cloak down, and her face exposed. The cold wind was welcome, and even more so, the sunlight which helped cut the cold just a bit.

Shortly after highsun, the party stopped into a dressmaker's shop. Kyera had ordered dresses before the trip to Neverwinter, and now wished to pick them up. The seamstress, a round woman, named Medeleine Ovrinde, with a cheerful, smiling face welcomed them to the shop. She seemed not to even give a single thought to the fact that a'Launiira was drow. She was with Lady Kyera, and that was enough for her.

In fact, after producing the three fine linen dresses she'd made for the Lady, one each in dark shades of blue, and green embroidered with thread of gold or silver, and another of bright yellow with thread of forest green, with the skirts on all three dresses divided for riding, she began to make a fuss over a'Launiira & Myrian. She produced several bales of cloth, in various colors, and began talking a mile a minute, about how the different cloths would offset their coloring. Before they knew what had happened, a'Launiira & Myrian walked out of the shop having promised to return in a few days for a pair of dresses Mistress Ovrinde would have ready for each. The cost was not inconsiderable but neither were the materials that she used, nor the cut and style of the dresses she created.

a'Launiira glared at Galarid. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone take charge of you in quite such a thorough way," he managed to say between bouts of wheezing laughter. At one point she thought he might just fall down in the street, laughing.

"Mistress Ovrinde has always had that sort of boisterous way about her," Kyera said, diplomatically.

_"Boisterous?" _a'Launiia thought. She was like an avalanche rolling downhill at you, unstoppable and terrifying in a way, yet kind as well. The drow woman fingered the fine scarf the woman had given her as a gift to welcome her to the city, after hearing that they all were staying in the palace.

They had a tankard of ale, or a glass of wine, as befit each one's sensibilities, at an inn near the center of the city, built into the hollowed out base of a giant oak tree. The proprietor scowled a bit when he saw a'Launiira, but the coins handed over by Toranes brightened his mood considerably. The girl who served them their drinks and a platter of cheeses, olives and nuts, stared wide-eyed at her, and nearly spilled a mug of ale on Gunthar. He took it in stride.

The highlight of the tour was a trip across the fabled Moonbridge, a shimmering expanse of pure magical force, which connected the Northern and Southern halves of the city, which was divided by the River Rauvin. Even having grown up amongst the dark elves, a race inherently magical, a'Launiira had never seen anything so wonderful. It was truly a gift from Isis, the magic which had created this wondrous bridge. But, of course, Isis was almost unknown here in the North. Here they worshipped the Lady of Mysteries, Mystra.

Eventually, they began to tire, and returned to the palace. The guards at the gate as they rode through were commanded by Sir Insaldren, the knight who'd escorted them into the city. He smiled and bowed as they rode past. To a'Launiira, it almost felt as though she'd come home.

A page waited in the entry hall as they arrived. He rushed up to Toranes and bowed slightly. "Sir Doriego," he said, "The High Lady bade me wait for you here, and to bring you and your friends to her in the West Gardens as soon as you arrived."

It was the same boy who'd helped a'Launiira to find her way that morning. He was perhaps thirteen, at most. Toranes ruffled his hair and said, "Then you had best lead us there, young master Jonai, and quickly."

The boy grinned and set off at a trot, leading them back and forth along several winding corridors. He held open the door leading to the West Garden, the High Lady's private garden, so that Sir Doriego and his companions could file through. He gazed in awe at the size and obvious strength of Halion, and at the beauty of Lady Kyera and Mistress Myrian, and again, at the strange dark beauty of Mistress a'Launiira. He longed to wear armor and a sword like Sir Gunthar. As the last of them passed through, he closed the door and trotted off down the hall, already lost in a daydream of his own adventures, a sword in his hand, a fine horse beneath him, and a beautiful companion by his side.

The High Lady stood at the center of the garden, on the cobblestone pathway, next to a large marble fountain in the likeness of a rearing Unicorn, with water cascading up from the Unicorn's horn to rain down into the marble basin below. Fret stood beside her, his nose, red from the cold, protruding above his white beard. Alustriel, herself, seemed not to notice the temperature. She wore the same white dress she had in the East Garden that morning, though she had added a light blue shawl. She smiled as they arrived and waved them over to join her.

"Welcome," she said. "I've been waiting for you."

"You honor us, High Lady," Gunthar said, with a somewhat formal bow.

"Please," Alustriel said. "I thought we'd passed that point." She smiled and motioned for them to walk with her. As they walked along the flagstone pathway, she told them of her plans, and the part which she hoped they would play within those plans.

"I have agents and informants all over the North, in an effort to keep abreast of what is happening out there." She stopped near a marble fountain in the shape of a winged elf in flight. "I've received some disturbing information, and I was hoping to convince you all to look into it for me."

"You want us to work for you?" Galarid asked.

"I'd like to offer you a commission," the High Lady answered, diplomatically. "I will cover all expenses, and I will offer you a stipend as well."

"You've already given us more than we can repay," Gunthar said. With a rather formal looking bow, he said, "I, for one, will carry out your request. No payment is required." Galarid looked a bit surprised, but most of the others seemed to agree with Gunthar.

Alustriel smiled, and said, "An honorable statement, and well said, Sir Gunthar. However, honor alone will not fill your bellies, nor shoe your horses."

"High Lady…" Gunthar began.

Toranes cut him off, "My friend, I know that you will fight valiantly, but in the end, she will wear you down." Gunthar looked almost aghast that Toranes would speak of his ruler so, but Alustriel merely laughed, like tinkling bells.

"Sir Doriego knows me well," she said. "Take his advice, Sir Silvershield."

Though he did not want to, Gunthar found himself agreeing. He began to understand how the High Lady had come by her reputation as a leader, and a negotiator. She simply made you like her so much that you wanted to do as she asked. "Tell us about this commission, High Lady," he said.

Alustriel began moving again, strolling easily through the garden, raising her voice enough to be sure she was heard by all. "Agents in Sundabar, Citadel Adbar & Mirabar have all passed on messages to me about people who are asking questions about Wong Tze."

"And just who is this Wong Tze?" Galarid asked.

"It sounds like a Shou name," Kyera put in.

"He was a powerful Mage, one of the last, perhaps even the very last, Archmage of Netheril. It has long been rumored that he had a secret lair in the North, in the mountains near where Citadel Adbar is located." After a brief pause, she went on. "It has never been found, nor even proven to have existed, and yes, he was Shou. He wandered far from his home and wound up as the last, and greatest Apprentice of the famed Arch-Wizard Congenio Ioun."

"And just who is it that is asking these questions?" Gunthar asked.

"That is the problem," Alustriel said. "My agents in Sundabar have identified the man asking questions there as Gregor Uriadin. He is an agent for Alvorin Drezid."

Neither name meant anything to any of the companions except, apparently, Toranes, who stopped in his tracks.

"Just who are these men?" Gunthar asked.

Alustriel stopped and turned to face them. She looked Gunthar right in the eye and said, "Drezid is a powerful mage, and of even more concern, he is a renegade member of the Zhentarim."

The name meant little to most of the Companions. Gunthar, however, muttered, "The Dark Network." Toranes shared his grim look.

The High Lady nodded. "If the home of Wong Tze does exist, Alvorin Drezid, and his lackeys must not be allowed to get their hands on the treasures it might hold."

"Wha' treasures," Halion asked.

It was Toranes who responded. "Rumors abound about the treasures of Wong Tze. He was rumored to have amassed a limitless fortune in coin and gems, and a trove of magical weapons and items which would make a fine hoard for any dragon, perhaps for a flight of dragons."

Alustriel cut in, "Of course, we would like to keep it all out of the hands of the Zhents, but most importantly, Drezid must not be allowed to find any of Wong Tze's spellbooks."

"Why not those, above anything else?" The gravelly voice belonged to Tharkunn. Not a single one of the Companions had heard him approach.

Alustriel, showing no surprise at his sudden appearance, answered simply, "No one knows what spells the books hold. It is possible that some long forgotten, powerful, magics may fall into the hands of the Zhents."

Tharkunn nodded, obviously understanding the dangers of such an occurrence.

Gunthar looked around at the faces of his friends. He got a smile of support from a'Launiira, a slight nod from Halion and Galarid, a look of hopeful anticipation from Banderax as he fingered his axe. He knew, without asking, how Tolmen would feel. He turned to the High Lady and said, "We will accept your commission High Lady."

Alustriel smiled, her voice taking on a tone of mock gravity, though clearly in jest, "Thank you Sir Silvershield. And what of you, my old friends?" she asked, turning to Toranes, Kyera and Tharkunn.

"My sword is yours to command, as always," Toranes said, kneeling before her, head bowed, his left hand grasping the hilt of his sword, and his right, a fist pressed to the floor. Tharkunn followed suit, and Kyera dropped a deep curtsy.

The Companions looked about amongst themselves, many worried that, perhaps they should have given similar signs of respect. Their fears were quickly alleviated when Alustriel smiled and told them all, "Come, we will share a glass of wine and discuss our plans for your investigation." She led them back through the garden, and to her private dining room, where they talked on deep into the evening.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN - A Step Behind, if Not a Few Steps**

More than ten days had passed since the Companions had accepted the commission offered them by the High Lady. They'd ridden north, out of the city, on fine new mounts, each another gift, this time from Toranes, who'd chosen them out from amongst his own stable of such. The High Lady herself had seen them off at the North Gate, wishing them luck and a safe journey, sharing a hug with each of the women, and kiss on the cheek for each of the men. She'd even bent down and rubbed Blizzard's muzzle, which the wolf seemed to take as her due.

With Toranes guiding them, spending most of each day riding ahead to scout, then back several times a day, they made good time. They did, of course, encounter a few dangers, the North being a dangerous place after all. However, they rode in through the gates of Sundabar around noon on the eleventh day, no one much the worse for wear.

Blizzard was once again leashed, for her own safety. Only Toranes, Kyera, Reldrin & Tharkunn had ever been to Sundabar. The city was dark and ominous to behold from a distance, very unlike Silverymoon. It was a place designed primarily to be defended in war, and it showed. There was little beauty in it.

Toranes led them through the streets, seeming to know quite well where he was headed. Their party drew many curious looks, such a large group, with a wolf, a dwarf, a Halfling, several large warriors, and even a priestess of the Morninglord. And, of course, Kyera, Kaylin and Myrian occasioned many a man to glance, usually more than once, in their direction. a'Launiira rode with her hood pulled up, hiding her face. She wore a pair of supple leather gloves as well, though there was no hiding her slight, feminine frame.

Toranes eventually turned into the stable yard of a large inn, constructed primarily of stone, as most of the buildings in Sundabar seemed to be, though the stone was dark, and grey, and somewhat foreboding. The door of the inn was painted a garish yellow. A wooden plaque above the door named it The Dancing Stallion.

A pair of stable hands came out of the stable, into the yard. A few coins changed hands, and the horses were led away. In no time at all, the fat, jovial innkeeper, one Harland Waite by name, had them all seated at a long table along the wall of the common room. Rooms would be prepared for them. They enjoyed a mug of ale, or a glass of wine, as each saw fit, and feasted on a fine meal of butter peas, fried potatoes, and sliced roast of beef, dripping with rich brown gravy. They'd had mainly hard tack and dried meat on the road, and such a fine, hot meal was most welcome.

About halfway through the meal, Tharkunn got up and moved toward the other end of the room.

"Something wrong," Toranes asked quietly, as he rose.

"No," Tharkunn said. "I just see an old acquaintance. I'll be back in a few minutes. Have the girl refresh my ale."

He sauntered across the room and dropped down into a chair, at a table where a heavy-set man had been sitting alone. He was dark-haired with a full beard, shot through with grey. His expensive clothing named him a fairly prosperous man, possibly a merchant. After an initial moment of surprise, he regained his composure, and the two began to talk, quietly.

The rest of the party finished their meal, and sat quietly, enjoying their rest and listening to the man in the corner of the common room who played on a hammered dulcimer. He was fair, but more than once Toranes found himself wincing at a missed note.

Before long, Tharkunn re-joined them. He picked up where he had left off with his meal, wolfing it down, unconcerned that it had mostly grown cold. After he'd finished, Gunthar said, "Did you learn anything useful from your old acquaintance?"

"Yes," Tharkunn said. A rival of his sold enough supplies two months ago to a man named Dorlikan, to outfit fifty men for at least half a year on the road."

"How does that help us?" a'Launiira asked from her shadowed corner.

"Dorlikan is a Zhent agent," Toranes replied, before Tharkunn could. "It gives us an idea of how many men Alvorin Drezid has at his disposal." After a moment's pause he said, "Or had at his disposal two months ago."

Gunthar and Tharkunn both nodded. Circumstances could very well have changed in that time.

"In the morning," Tharkunn said, "I'll ask some questions around town. See if they also bought horses or wagons. Maybe someone saw which direction they were headed when they left."

"They wouldn't have been foolish enough to wear their Zhent cloaks openly," Gunthar said.

"No," Toranes agreed, "they wouldn't. However, the guards would have taken notice of a large group like that. If we're lucky, they might recognize some others. We might even find that some of them had loose tongues. If we're lucky, we might."

They sat for a few minutes. "Tolmen," Toranes said, "perhaps you could accompany Tharkunn tomorrow. You're good at staying unnoticed. Just watch his back. Gunthar and Halion can make a circuit of the gates, talk to the guards. They should be comfortable enough talking to two fighting men. Kyera and Myrian can talk to apothecaries and sages around town, and any mages who might have scrolls to sell. Maybe Drezid tried to buy some here. Reldrin can go with the two of you. His axe might be handy if you run into any trouble." At this, the dwarf, who'd taken on a sour expression brightened a bit. "a'Launiira & Galarid can stay here to keep an eye on our things, along with Blizzard. Kaylin and I will make a circuit of the common rooms, see if we can learn anything that way. Men will talk to a bard, especially if he is buying the ale, and Lathander is well respected around here."

Having agreed on a course of action, they each finished their drink, whatever it might have been, and wandered off to a hot bath and their beds. As the last of them, Reldrin, headed for the stairs, a young lad wearing the simple breeches and coarse shirt of a stableman got up from a table in the far corner. He fiddled with a ring on his right pinky finger as he casually strolled outside. Master Humorgett would certainly want to know about the group at the Dancing Stallion.

Upon reaching the street, he carefully checked his back, while pretending to lace up his boot. There was no one else about on the streets, except a drunk sleeping in the alleyway across from the inn. He'd been there when the boy went in. No danger there. Satisfied he hadn't been followed, he set out.

Just before he reached the corner, a dark shape emerged from the shadows a bit deeper into the alleyway than the drunk. Tharkunn smiled to himself as he trotted off after the young man. Some meetings rarely take place in the daylight.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN – Arrows in the Dark**

Tev Arlan moved quickly and assuredly through the night dark streets of Sundabar. Every so often he surreptitiously checked his back to be sure he still wasn't being followed. He never noticed Tharkunn, who tailed him expertly. The boy was good, but he wasn't even close to being good enough to shake a master like Tharkunn.

_He shouldn't have drawn attention to himself, fiddling with his ring like he did_, Tharkun thought. Not many would have known the significance of the ring to begin with, but he had. Toranes would have as well, had he seen it.

He slipped to the corner of a side alley he'd used to get ahead of the boy. A quick peek showed the boy still moving in the same direction, as expected. Tharkunn found a deep shadow and ducked into it. From his hiding place, he watched as the boy ducked into an alley almost across from his own.

The boy lifted a sewer grate without making a sound. It had been well-oiled, a sure sign. Tharkunn counted ten and checked to be sure no one was watching. He saw no sign of anyone. He sauntered across the street as if he had not a care in the world, as if he had every right to be where he was. Once across the street and into the alley, he moved to the grate.

After counting another ten, he lifted the grate himself and slowly descended the metal rungs into a dark tunnel. It was clear immediately that the tunnel was no longer part of the city's sewer system, if it ever had been. There was no foul stench, and very little moisture at all.

The tunnel branched off in both directions. Tharkunn listened carefully for a moment, until he heard the slight sound of a boot scuffing on stone down the passageway to his right. He pulled a ring of his own from a pouch hidden in a disguised pocket inside his cloak. Putting the ring on the pinky finger of his left hand, he twisted it once. Suddenly, the pure blackness of the tunnel ahead seemed as though it had lightened to the dimness of an evening sky under the stars. The magic of the ring would hold for a few hours, allowing him to see fairly clearly, even in total blackness. It was an advantage he'd put to good use before. At the very edge of his sight, he could see the boy moving slowly, his right hand feeling along the wall to his right, for a door, or possibly another passageway.

Tharkunn moved quickly, and soundlessly, quickly closing the gap between himself and the boy, until he was no more than 20 feet behind. He saw the opening to the side before the boy reached it.

He'd long since lost count of how many times his intuition had saved his life. Just as the boy reached the passageway, the hairs on the back of Tharkunn's neck began to bristle. He threw himself to the other side of the passageway as an arrow whistled through the passageway, just past the boy, cutting through the very point where Tharkunn himself had been standing just an instant before.

He realized that it had been the creak of the bowstring that alerted him. He hadn't even known what it was it at first, but he'd reacted anyway.

The boy let out a soft cry, then stumbled and fell into the side passage. Tharkunn gathered himself and charged beyond the passage, toward where the shot had come from. Within two steps, he could just see the archer at the far edge of his vision. The man was fumbling with his quiver, trying to draw and nock another arrow. He clearly hadn't expected anyone to charge blindly down the darkened passage. He couldn't have known that Tharkunn could see through the darkness, though he might now have begun to suspect.

Finally, he managed to nock another arrow & draw on the rapidly closing man. As he drew back on the bow, Tharkunn began to dodge left and right, in no real pattern, while still moving closer. The man let loose his shaft, just as Tharkunn dodged right again. The arrow whizzed by his left shoulder, just grazing him, & leaving a small tear in the shoulder of his shirt and cloak. Damn it! They were his favorites.

The man dropped his bow, fumbling for a dagger at his belt as he drew in a lungful of air to scream. Tharkunn hit him like a runaway bull, crashing into the man's chest and driving him to the ground. The air left his lungs in a huff before he could do more than squeak. In an instant, Tharkunn had him pinned to the ground, and then flipped him onto his stomach, a knee in the center of his back. He had a handful of the man's hair pulling his head back, forcing his back to arch as much as it could with his own weight on it, and a dagger at the man's throat.

"Keep quiet, and listen to me very carefully if you want to live," he hissed. "I don't like it when people I don't even know try to kill me."

"I was just…" the man started to say, only to cut off at the slight increase in pressure of the blade at his throat.

"I said, keep quiet and listen," Tharkunn whispered again. He waited for a second to see if the man would disobey him again. He did not. "Good. So, you can listen when you try. I'm going to let you go, but I'm keeping the bow for now, and that pretty little bauble." Tharkunn plucked a silver chain from the man's brow, which had left a pale yellowish-green stone dangling on his forehead. It gave off a very pale glow, soft enough that he hadn't seen it until he was within five feet of the bowman. It had to be what had allowed the man to see him in the darkness. The man was human, after all.

"Now, I want you to go to your Master, Humorgett, and tell him that Tharkun Doressin is waiting to speak to him. I'll wait by the sewer grate north of here."

Tharkunn having let go of his hair and eased off just a bit on the pressure with the blade, the man nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"The boy has no doubt run to tell them, so they'll be sending some men to kill me. Turn them around, or I promise you I'll be back, with enough support to shut you all down for good." The man nodded again before setting off down the side tunnel. Tharkunn waited for just a moment before moving back toward the sewer grate where he'd entered the tunnels.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE – A Meeting in a Dark Place**

He didn't have to wait long, perhaps fifteen minutes. A heavy, raspy breathing came from the tunnel nearby. It sounded like half a battalion of men. Tharkunn couldn't help but to grin to himself.

"Still stuffing yourself with roasted pork I see, Humorgett."

The man stumbled around the corner some fifty feet away. He was short, no more than five-foot-five, and nearly as round as he was tall. He huffed and puffed as though the walk from his lair had used up most of his energy, which it probably had. His many chins quivered from the exertion.

"Huff-huff, And just what the hell are you, huff-huff, doing here, Doressin? Huff-huff" Humorgett asked. "I'd heard that, huff-huff, you were out of the trade. Huff-huff."

"I am," Tharkunn said. "I'm not here to put a crimp in your operations, …unless of course you try to cross me."

"And why would I do that? Huff-huff."

"You wouldn't," Tharkunn answered. "You're not that stupid. It's why you followed my instructions, and came alone."

Humorgett smiled. The ring allowed Tharkunn to see it, in spite of the darkness. Tharkunn knew Humorgett would have something similar on his person, despite the act of groping along.

"It's also why you'll call off the men who are preparing to follow me from the alley when I leave, because you know I'll see them, and you know I'll kill them."

Humorgett chuckled, his deep-throaty laughter mingling with his wheezing breaths. "Just raise your right arm when you exit. They'll understand the meaning, and leave you be. I should have known that you'd know."

"You did know, but you had to try," Tharkunn said.

"Why did you drag me out here?" Humorgett asked. "What do you want?"

"Information, the kind you'd be likely to know, and probably willing to sell." Tharkunn pulled a tiny felt drawstring pouch from somewhere inside his cloak. "Three small, but flawless rubies," he said, "you'll get two hundred gold apiece for them."

"And just what do you want to know?"

"There was a group here two months ago, led by a man named Dorlikan. They bought supplies from legitimate sources for some fifty men, enough for six months on the road. I'm sure they also did business with you." Humorgett merely nodded to indicate that Tharkunn's assumptions were not wrong.

"I want to know what they bought, and where they were going."

"They bought scrolls, and two vials of Demon's Blood poison." Tharkunn cringed. Demon's Blood poison was nasty stuff, much worse than the Blackthorn powder the orcs had used. He waited.

After a moment, Humorgett said, "If you wish to know where they were going, it'll cost you more than the rubies. I have no desire to cross Alvorin Drezid."

Tharkunn nodded, pulling out another, somewhat larger pouch. He slipped the tiny gem bag inside the larger pouch and tossed the whole thing to Humorgett, who belied his bulk by deftly snatching the thing out of the air. At one time, he'd been a hell of an operator.

"That's another ten platinum crowns, Silveranean stamped coinage. That's another hundred. All I can offer you right now." Humorgett nodded. They both knew the demand of extra payment was more about the game than the money. "And, in addition to where they were going, you're also going to tell me about the scrolls."

Humorgett chuckled again. "The scrolls were nothing, one to allow a mage to control temperature in an area around himself. Apparently Alvorin Drezid finds our local weather a bit too chilly." He chuckled again. "Another was a minor spell which limns a chosen weapon with dark fire. It is only an illusion, but rather intimidating. The last was the most powerful, a spell which would reduce, or even eliminate the innate ability to resist magic that some creatures have." Tharkunn let out a low whistle through his teeth.

"I'm sure you charged them accordingly."

"Of course," Humorgett chuckled again. "Drezid is not lacking for coin these days."

"Why is that?" Tharkunn asked.

"Rumor has it that he found an old trove, rooted out a nest of hobgoblins."

"Where were they headed?"

"I don't know," Humorgett said, "leastways, I don't know for sure."

"Tell me what you heard."

The fat man fingered the pouch again. The last thing he'd need would

be for Tharkunn and the damned altruistic fools he traveled with these days to

be poking around. Best to tell him what he knew and get them on their way.

Drezid wouldn't know who'd talked. He took a deep breath and began to speak again, "One of my lads overheard this Dorlikan say something about Mt. Redhorn."

"Redhorn," Tharkunn mused, stroking the growth of whiskers on his

chin. "That's in the Spine of the World, somewhere northeast of Mithril

Hall. What could they be looking for up there?" The question was a

rhetorical one, but Humorgett obviously assumed Tharkunn wanted an

answer.

"I have no idea," he said. "And, I don't know if it's related or not, but around the time they were here, an acquaintance of mine had an old map stolen from his library."

"Was it considered valuable?" Tharkunn asked.

"Not really," Humorgett answered. "I only bring it up because the map was of the same region. I remember having seen it once or twice, just in passing mind you. But I remember noticing Mt. Redhorn on it."

"Thank you for the information," Tharkunn said, turning and beginning to climb the metal rungs back to the street above. His gut was telling him that Humorgett's information was proof enough, even if they couldn't connect Drezid's men to the theft of the map.

Humorgett turned and began the long walk back to his lair. His gait was much more smooth and easy this time. He smiled to himself as he tucked the pouch away under his cloak.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Into the wilds of the North**

Just after sunup, some thirty hours after Tharkunn's meeting with Humorgett, Toranes' party rode out through the gates of Sundabar, headed northwest, along the Silverymoon Road, at a good pace. They held that course for the better part of two days before leaving the road, turning north.

The company had spent the last day in the city learning what they could, but also taking the time to re-provision, preparing for a long trek into the wild country of the North. They'd added a second packhorse and both were loaded quite heavily.

With a few more discreet questions, Tharkunn had managed to find the man who'd had the map stolen from him. A small purse of Toranes', or more accurately Alustriel's, gold had done a great deal to aid his memory in drawing what he claimed was a fairly accurate copy of the map.

The plan was to cut around the northern Nether Mountains and head almost due northwest, cutting directly through the northern portions of the Moonwood. A small group like theirs would move much faster than the larger group of Zhents. Also, the Zhents would most likely have avoided a direct path through the Moonwood, choosing to cut north and then west around, to avoid the elves and the other creatures of the forest. The time they would gain would be no more than a week, maybe less, but any gain was something at this point.

Their third day off the road, they encountered a trio of stone giants, down out of the mountains. A vicious battle left the party battered and forced them to spend near enough a full day resting while Kaylin & a'Launiira called upon Lathander and Isis to heal their wounds. They'd managed to kill one giant and drive off the other two, mostly thanks to the magics of Kyera, a'Launiira, Kaylin & Myrian.

Just over a week into the wilds, as the party was almost within sight of the eastern reaches of the Moonwood, for they were pushing hard indeed, the skies darkened and a fierce storm blew in upon them from the Spine of the World, blanketing the lands with a layer of snow some ten inches deep.

The party was comfortable enough, waiting out the storm in a small cottage of wood and sod, which Kyera created with a spell she'd memorized, at Toranes' request that morning. He'd seen signs which had led him to suspect the coming storm. The spell also created rudimentary furnishings, including eight bunks, in which the party took turns resting until the storm had passed. It was another of the spells from Guerrand's leather case, but one she'd learned, and added to her own spellbook.

It had been a rough night for the horses, outside in the cold, even with extra horse blankets and hoods. The party made for the Moonwood as quickly as they could through the deep snow. They reached the outer edges of the forest by mid-afternoon. Underneath the overhanging boughs of the trees, the snow was not nearly so deep. It didn't take much longer for Toranes to find them a spot that was well sheltered from the snow, where they could build a fire and set a camp to rest for a day or two in relative comfort, including their mounts.

The campsite was under the sheltered Cliffside of a small hillock, and it was not the first time he'd used the site for a camp. The underside of the cliff had been hollowed out by some unknown folk, in some distant time past, forming almost a shallow cave, but one an ogre could have stood up straight in without a problem. Just outside the cave, there was a small clearing with overhanging trees lining the outer edge. With a little work, the snow in the clearing was removed and pine boughs lashed to the trees above formed a fairly effective roof over the clearing. There was more than enough snow nearby which could be melted for water, and a few snares set by Toranes netted them some fresh game.

The one least affected by the snow was Blizzard, aptly enough. She seemed to revel in it, bounding through with little trouble and even sniffing out the occasional winter hare.

As the Party rested for the first day, Toranes, Kyera, Gunthar and Tharkunn worked up another plan. Mount Redhorn was still some nine or ten days of hard travel away, in the best of conditions. With the snow, and the possibility of another storm on the way, it could be more like twelve to fourteen days. What advantage they had intended to gain, Auril seemed inclined to begrudge them.

They decided that the best plan would be for them to use the second Gateway scroll. It had originally been intended for a means to return to Silverymoon quickly with news of what they might have learned, but a single member of the Party, namely Kyera, could do that with a Teleport spell, and then return as needed with another, though that would mean at least a day away. In the end, they decided it was necessary.

Since they'd be gaining several days, even on their original plan, Toranes decided to allow them all them all an extra day of rest. He'd been pushing them all very hard. It proved to be an important, and a very good decision.

Early on the morning of that second day, the snow began to fall again, though not so furiously as it had before, drifting down in large, wet flakes. The air inside the hollow was warmed nicely by a small fire and the large number of bodies in close proximity. Most of the party were seasoned campaigners, and had learned long ago to take advantage of any chance that presented itself to rest and sleep.

Tolmen, Kyera and Gunthar were awake, near the edge of the clearing, keeping watch. Each was thinking warm thoughts to ward of the chill, a hearth and a hearty stew for Tolmen, a bright sunrise over a warm, tropical beach for Kyera and a nice mug of hot spiced wine for Gunthar, when a low whistle came from the trees to the east, and a soft, lilting voice called out in the Common tongue, "Hello there, may I approach your camp."

Gunthar was the closest to the voice, yet he saw no one when he peered off into the trees. "Who goes there?" he called out, and then to Tolmen he said quietly, "Rouse the others."

A slim shape stepped out from behind a tree, much closer than Gunthar was comfortable with. "My name is Sylvie, Sylvie Fairglen." His heart near leapt into his throat when he saw her. Never had seen anyone, nor anything more beautiful. She had long hair, a pale golden yellow in color, held back from her face in a long braid down her back, a lithe and supple figure, almost impossibly high, yet delicate cheekbones and almond shaped eyes that sparkled like emeralds offsetting her pale skin. She wore a long, pale green dress, with the skirts divided for riding, and soft, furred boots, as well as a pale grey-green cloak, which seemed to almost blend into the background of the forest. Her ears told him she was elven, as did her eyes, and the graceful way she moved. He'd seen it in a'Launiira as well. It explained how she'd managed to get so close without him seeing her. Few could move as stealthily as an elf in her home woods.

She stood with her hand out, fingers spread, her only visible weapons a fine elven longbow on her back, a small quiver bristling with arrows, and a slender dagger at her left hip. There was a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Uh, I umm…" he stammered a bit. From off to his right, he heard Kaylin try to cover a laugh with a cough. He gathered himself and tried again. "Are you alone?" he asked.

"I am." Her smile was a bit wider now. "I've come to speak with Toranes Doriego."

Gunthar was surprised. "How did you know that Toranes was here?"

"I saw Blizzard stalking a raccoon not an hour ago, perhaps a half mile to the east."

"And she knows that I've used this camp before," Toranes said, stepping up beside Gunthar. "It's alright. Sylvie is a friend." The young elf-maid had begun stepping forward as soon as Toranes appeared, and she stepped into his arms for a quick embrace.

"It is good to see you, old friend," she said, continuing to speak in Common, out of respect for the others.

"And you, my dear," Toranes answered. "It is odd, but agreeable to find you this far north. You are still as beautiful as any sunset."

A quick round of introductions took place and Sylvie was invited to join the Party round the fire. She greeted Tharkunn and Kyera every bit as warmly as she had Toranes.

Many in the Party were surprised that the elf-maid made very little fuss over a'Launiira, even after she explained that she was willing to accept a'Launiira if she was trusted by Toranes, Kyera, and Tharkunn. After a bit of small talk, things got more serious. Talk of weather and hunting, family and mutual friends turned to the current reason for the Party's trip into the Moonwood.

"You must be careful if you intend to go to Mount Redhorn," Sylvie said. Gunthar couldn't help himself. Every time she spoke, his heart hammered away in his chest. "The Bloody Stones hobgoblins called it home until something worse drove them out. Some fled into the forest. We captured one. It claimed that it was men, men with great magics and cloaks the color of the night sky over the Great Glacier."

"Drezid and his Zhents," Tharkunn said, sucking deeply upon his mahogany pipe, and blowing out a smoke-ring of pale bluish-white smoke. The sickly-sweet smell of fine Turmish pipeweed filled the hollow.

"It seems likely, from what you've told me," Sylvie agreed. "But they are no longer at Mount Redhorn."

"You know this for fact?" Toranes asked.

"Yes," she said simply. "We sent a small force to scout these men, only to find that they'd ridden south soon after forcing out the Bloody Stones, though it seems as if they only killed or drove off half. The others went south with them."

"Perhaps as prisoners," Gunthar suggested.

"Or recruits," Reldrin growled, not at all happy with the idea of a large group of hobgoblins being added to the Zhent soldiers they already were chasing. He looked to Tharkunn. "You have any more of that?" he gestured to the pipe in the man's hand.

Tharkunn dug a small leather pouch out of a pocket inside his cloak and tossed it to the dwarf, who filled his own, almost absurdly long dwarven pipe with a good pinch of the weed, then plucked a small faggot of wood, burning at one end from the edge of the fire, and lit it, tossing the pouch back with a nod of thanks.

"What are they doing up here?" Sylvie asked.

"Searching for something," Kyera answered, "powerful magics from ancient times."

The elf-maid furrowed her brow, but even the frown couldn't mar her beauty.

"How long ago did they ride south?" Toranes asked.

"Twenty-two days."

Assuming they made good time riding up here, they would have reached Mt. Redhorn in roughly twenty-seven to twenty-nine days, assuming perhaps two days of rest allowed in that time. They left twenty-two days ago. That's forty-nine to fifty-one days. They left Sundabar seventy-one days ago. That is roughly two weeks they spent at Mt. Redhorn."

"Plenty of time for them to search the place, especially if they got some of those Bloody Stones to give them a tour," Tolmen said.

"We have to assume that they either found what they were looking for, or they couldn't find it and gave up," Toranes said. "The question is, do we go look for ourselves, or try to run them down and ask them in person. Both options have advantages and drawbacks."

"I might be able to help you with that," Sylvie said.

"How so?" Gunthar asked, his voice sounding just a little hoarse to his own ears.

"Who better to show us the fastest paths through the forest," Kaylin said, "than an elf who lives here?"

"These men killed one of our people, a scout who got a little too close." Sylvie said, and the sadness in her voice, and in her eyes, was heart-wrenching.

"You have our deepest sympathies," Toranes said, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"When these men left these lands, they were still following the course of the River south, on the western bank," she said.

"A change of plans then," Toranes said. "We'll use the scroll to open a Gateway to the west bank of the Surbrin, at the point where it bends west toward Mithril Hall. Do you know the place I mean?" he asked Kyera.

"Yes," she said. "That should be alright, but why that point?"

"It is as far south and west as Sylvie's people would follow, so it is the logical point for us to be able to use the Gateway to travel to and still reliably know that we haven't jumped beyond a point where they turned aside." Kyera nodded. He spoke sense.

"How much time will that save us?" Gunthar asked.

"From here, now, it would likely take perhaps ten to twelve days off our travel time. More importantly, it would have taken Drezid, and his men roughly eight days to reach that point from Redhorn. We'll be maybe twelve to fourteen days behind them," Toranes said.

"The problem is, between the passage of time and the storms, Gwaeron Windstrom himself would have a hard time tracking them," Galarid put in.

"That would be true," Toranes said, but they'll leave a trail in more ways than one. There are few enough places where they could get supplies, or provisions. Towns and even villages are scarce up here. Forty soldiers and some thirty or more hobgoblins will be noticed, or else leave a trail of destruction in their wake."

"They must have someone guiding them," Tharkunn put in. "They aren't likely to know the area."

"Yes," Sylvie said, "a Malarite named Boorvaxis."

"Damn," Toranes said.

"I take it you know this Boorvaxis?" Gunthar asked.

"Too well," Toranes said. He was also a scout for the Knights-in-Silver, and he used to be a friend."

"What happened?" Tolmen asked.

"He was infected with lycanthropy. He turned his back on his old life, dedicated himself to Malar," Toranes said. "He killed four of our fellow scouts. He almost killed me as well."

Tharkunn interjected, using his pipe to point at Toranes as he spoke, "This is good news for us. Don't you see it? You know how he thinks. You know the sites he'd use to make camps. It is another thread for us to follow them."

"I suppose you are right," Toranes said, but he didn't sound convinced. For the first time since Gunthar had met him, he sounded frightened. Kyera edged a bit closer to him and laid her hand on his foreman. He patted her hand with his other, as if unaware that she'd been offering solace, but rather seeking it.

"I have another idea," Kyera said, looking to Toranes as she spoke. "If you know this Boorvaaxis well, perhaps we can catch them much sooner. I could use the mirror."

Toranes, a'Launiira, Sylvie & Tharkun all nodded in understanding. The others seemed a bit lost. To them, a mirror was only a mirror, and they didn't even see one."

"If I may be so bold," Sylvie said, "may I come with you?"

"Why would you wish to do that?" Galarid asked. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. a'Launiira put a hand on top of his, her fingers entwining with his own.

"Do you recall that I mentioned that these men killed one of our scouts?" Again, her voice took on that sadness. It almost made tears well up in Gunthar's eyes, and he was not the only one.

"I'm so sorry, Sylvie," Kyera said.

For the benefit of those who didn't know her as well she said, "The scout they killed was my brother, Simo."


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN – A Large, Silver Mirror**

"The mirror will allow Toranes to Scry upon this man, Boorvaaxis," Kyera said. "It is exceedingly difficult to do if you are unfamiliar with a person, but if you have something personal of theirs, or if you know them well, it is much more likely to succeed."

"And you said you knew this man well," Gunthar said.

"Yes," Toranes answered. "I'll need the other components to the spell, which could take some time, but if this works, it will be time well spent." He smiled at Kyera and said, "Well done."

"What are the components?" Galarid asked.

"There are several, in addition to the mirror," Kyera said. "The first, and likely the most difficult, is the eye of a hawk, an eagle or a roc."

"The second," a'Launiira chimed in, "is a bit of nitric acid."

Toranes nodded along and then said, "Also, a bit of bit of copper is necessary," as he rolled a copper coin across the back of his fingers, "and a bit of zinc."

Gunthar said, "Well, clearly we have the mirror and the copper. Do we have any of these other things?"

"I have a bit of zinc," Kyera said. "It should be enough for at least two Scrying attempts."

"A quick jaunt back to Silverymoon should allow for the other components," Toranes said, turning to Kyera. "The shop you visit on Half Moon Street should be able to provide what we need. Get enough for two attempts. When you return, you can Summon the mirror."

"I could memorize a Teleport spell for tomorrow," she answered.

"How many of us could you bring with you?" he asked.

"I believe that I could manage three, plus myself," she said.

"One should suffice, I would think," he said. "You'll have to arrive outside the city, though not too far. And, I'd prefer if you were escorted." As he spoke, his eyes flicked over to Tharkunn.

"And what job do you have for me in the city?" the man asked in his gravelly voice. It was clear that Toranes had something in mind.

"He'll have you bring back some reinforcements," Gunthar said. Like Toranes, he'd done the math. Roughly forty zhents, plus some twenty to thirty hobgoblins was not a good match for them. Against the orcs, they'd had the dual advantages of magic and surprise. But these Zhents were supposedly led by a wizard of some power. They might be able to match him with their own casters, but perhaps not.

Toranes nodded. Indeed, it was exactly what he'd been thinking.

"Who?" Tharkunn asked.

"I was thinking of Viktor."

"Without a horse, he'll be another swordsman, but he'll fight better if he is mounted," Galarid said.

"He can have my horse," Toranes said. I'll be better off on the ground anyway."

"Tha's one," Halion said, nodding in approval. He'd liked Viktor quite a bit. "Who else will ye be callin upahn?"

"I'll think on that a bit," Toranes said. "We'll have to rest tonight anyway, and allow Kyera to memorize her spell in the morning."

"I can get us another bowman by the morning after tomorrow," Sylvie said. "Sallas is scouting the area west of here. I can find him and bring him back here by then, with any luck."

"And who would be this Sallas?" Reldrin asked.

"My brother, the only one of three still alive," Sylvie said. The sadness was back in her voice, but there was a fierceness and determination as well.

"We'd be lucky to have you both with us," Toranes said.

"Then I'll be back soon." Without another word, Sylvie turned and trotted off to the southwest. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and waited just a moment. Blizzard appeared from the trees, carrying a dead raccoon in her mouth. Sylvie scratched the wolf behind the ear once and spoke softly in elvish before disappearing into the trees. None of the Party was close enough to hear what she said.

Blizzard trotted over, dropped to the ground perhaps twenty feet from the hollow, and immediately set to work devouring her kill. Most of the party found reasons to look elsewhere.

They returned to their fire and made new plans, yet again. Names were bandied about as to who would make the best choice for Kyera's return trip. In the end, Toranes decided that Tharkunn's choice made the most sense, a mercenary soldier who was Tharkunn's friend, named Dovrayne Sygan. They would trust that Kyera, Kaylin, a'Launiira & Myrian would provide enough spell power to counteract Drezid and any casters with him. In a pinch, Toranes could cast a few spells as well. They would need more warriors against the numbers they would be facing. Dovrayne fought with a crossbow and a fine warhammer he'd made himself. He wore armor of overlapping dark green scales and carried a round steel shield.

"I've heard of him," Gunthar said, and both Galarid & Reldrin nodded along. "He's supposed to be an excellent fighter. How much will it cost to hire him?"

"He owes me a couple of favors," Tharkunn said. "If he agrees, I'll tell him the slate is clear between us."

"Will tha' be ee'nough?" Myrian asked, looking around to Tharkunn.

"Most likely," Tharkunn said. "The debts he owes me are large, and he is a brave soul. However, I'll offer him a small payment if he is still unwilling."

Toranes nodded. He dug a small, golden-yellow gem out of his pouch and tossed it to Tharkunn, who deftly snagged it from the air. He held it up to the light between his thumb and forefinger, examining it for a moment, then said, "Topaz, maybe a hundred gold pieces value. I could probably get him for fifty plus the favors."

"Give him the topaz up front," Toranes said. "For the odds we'll be asking him to face, it will be less than he'd deserve." Tharkunn nodded his assent.

"What about a mount for him, or for the elves?" Tolmen asked.

"We'll give him one of the packhorse," Toranes said. "As for Sylvie and Sallas, they'll both keep up just fine." He turned to Kyera and said, "You'll have to bring a riding saddle back with you. We'll swap it out with one of the pack saddles."

"Is there anything else you want us to bring back, so long as we'll have the chance?"

"Yes, I'll get you a list before the morning." He looked around at the others. "Let me know if you can think of anything you'll need that we don't already have on hand." After a short pause, and a glance around the fire again at each of his companions and said, "Don't worry overmuch about the cost. If there is anything you can't afford, I'll cover the difference."

In the morning, Toranes took a small, leather bound book from his pack, a jar of black ink, from which he removed the stopper, a small rag and a quill pen. He began jotting notes on one of the pages in a small, precise hand.

Half a dozen healing salves from the Temple of Lathander, ask for

Morninglord Gordellin

Riding Saddle from the livery stable near the north gate

Quiver of arrows from Master Hornvill, the Fletcher on Cenatur Street, his best

A Pair of daggers I ordered from Lofkin, the smith next to the Badger's Rest Inn

Rations for fifteen folk, plus Blizzard, for five days

Wand that will allow the clerics to Heal wounds (assuming you can find one)

Any other components you might need replenished

When he'd finished writing the list, he waited for the ink to dry, then carefully tore the page from the book and folded it in half. He handed it to Kyera and said, "If there is anything else you think of while you're there, get it."

"I will," she said, smiling up at him. "And I'll,…we'll be back first thing in the morning." She smiled at Tharkunn as he stood off to the side.

He handed her a fat pouch, filled with coins and gems. "If that isn't enough to get everything we need, speak to Barnabas. He'll put up the rest against promise of payment from us." She merely nodded. She was biting her bottom lip lightly, a sure sign that she was nervous.

Toranes was confused. She'd Teleported many times before, and Silverymoon was safe enough. There was nothing else he could think of for her to be nervous about.

Suddenly, she reached up, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressed her lips to his own. He was too stunned to move for a brief moment, but just as she began to pull away, he pulled her back into him, his arms going around her waist, and his kiss every bit as passionate as her own.

When they stepped apart, both were out of breath. Spots of color on Kyera's cheeks spoke of her embarrassment at having kissed him in front of everyone. Most of the others were pointedly avoiding looking at them, too pointedly for them not to have seen, except of course for Tharkunn. In a low voice, he said, "It's about damned time."

Toranes gently touched Kyera on the chin, lifting her face until he could look deeply into her beautiful eyes. "I never suspected," he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

She smiled. "I know."

"How long?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"It does," he said. "I've been a fool."

"There's no doubting that," Tharkunn said. Kyera suppressed a giggle.

"We'll talk when I get back," she said. He nodded. Kyera and Tharkunn stepped away, toward the edge of the clearing. Toranes watched as she placed a hand on Tharkunn's shoulder and said, "_Tamanisol_". With a loud pop, both disappeared. He watched the spot where they had been for a few seconds longer, and a slow smile spread across his face.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN – Using the Mirror**

Later that evening, Sylvie returned with Sallas. He was a bit taller, and heavier, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. He had the same high, fine cheekbones, the same golden-yellow hair, and the same graceful movements. He carried an elven long bow, finely carved from ash, a quiver, and a long dagger, just as she did. He wore soft leathers which were perhaps two shades darker green than Sylvie's dress.

It didn't take long for Sallas and Sylvie to become popular with the rest of the Party. Both were funny, friendly, and kind. And though both suffered the loss of their brothers, and neither was afraid to show the pain of those losses, they were strong in both body and spirit. They didn't let it consume them. They were even more capable of joy than they were of sorrow, and their laughter was like music. Both had beautiful and pure voices, which combined with Toranes' harp, were a wonder.

Gunthar did his best to keep from staring at Sylvie, yet time and again he found his eyes drawn to her. If she noticed his gaze, she didn't show it.

Shortly after dawn, Kyera returned, bringing Tharkunn and Viktor, and another man, tall yet stocky, with hair the color of winter wheat and eyes of a piercing green. He had about him an air of competence and a sense of contained menace. He wore his scale armor and had his simple, unadorned round shield slung on his back. There was a warhammer at his right hip, and a long sword on his back. The crossbow was strapped to the bottom of his pack. He carried a black leather saddle in his arms.

Introductions were quickly made. Tharkunn had explained to both Viktor and Dovrayne exactly what they were doing, including the numbers that they would face. Toranes repeated it for them. He wanted no mistake that they were willing to face them. He needn't have bothered.

At one point, Tharkunn approached Toranes and handed him the small topaz. "He was more than willing to help, eager even. I offered him the gem, but he refused." Toranes simply nodded. It confirmed for him what he'd suspected for some time about Dovrayne Sygan, little bits pieced together from many stories. The man was a closet idealist. And Viktor, of course, would never pass up a chance to serve the Marchlands and Lady Alustriel, nor would he forego a chance to aid Lord Doriego and Lady Trajan.

Kyera approached Toranes. "I found everything but the wand," she said. He touched her left cheek, gently with his right hand.

"We'll be fine," he said, and she knew that he was talking about more than her inability to locate a Healing wand. She pressed her cheek to his chest and wrapped her arms around him. She wondered why she'd finally decided to take such a chance the day before, but even more so she wondered why she'd never had the courage to do it before.

Viktor Insaldren approached, gently clearing his throat. When Toranes looked up at him, he smiled and said, "It's about bloody time."

"That's what I said," Tharkunn added.

"Something you wanted to tell me, other than to offer congratulations, Viktor?" Toranes asked, a bit of sarcasm and a bit of amusement in his voice.

Insaldren hid his spreading grin behind his hand. Taking a moment to compose himself, he said, "I was given instructions from the High Lady, herself. She bade me give you this." He handed Toranes a small metal disc. It appeared to Toranes that it was made of electrum. It was stamped with the image of a rampant unicorn on both sides.

"What is this?" Toranes asked.

Insaldren smiled. "It is a Scrying focus. It will allow the High Lady to Scry upon your location far more quickly and easily than is normal for such things. I am to inform you that, if you feel the situation is beyond the forces at your disposal, you are to call her name, and then speak the following phrase exactly; 'Shadow threatens to consume the light'. If you do, she will immediately Scry upon you, and she will bring aid, which she will have standing ready for the next ten days at all times, or until you contact her to inform her that such aid is not needed."

"What kind of aid, exactly, would she bring?" Galarid asked.

"The High Lady did not tell me, and I did not feel the need to question her on the matter," Viktor answered.

"She will come herself, along with a few others," Toranes said, releasing Kyera. "It is what she would do."

"Certainly not," Gunthar said. "She wouldn't risk herself like that, would she? She's a ruler, a Queen in all but name."

"Toranes is right," Kyera said. "She has the heart of a lion, and enough courage for ten knights."

"But tha's madness," Halion put in.

"Let us make sure it never comes to that," Toranes said, with Viktor nodding in agreement. "It is time for us to get to work." With that statement, he looked to Kyera. "I'll be needing the mirror."

She nodded, then reached into a small pouch at her belt, producing a fair-sized sapphire. She closed her eyes in concentration and squeezed, crushing the gem, turning it to dust in her hand. A few of the Party gasped in surprise. The fine azure dust slipped between her fingers, floating away on the cold northern winds. As the last few grains slipped away, a large silver mirror began to coalesce in her hands.

It was two feet wide and nearly four feet high, and scribed with arcane runes, all about the outer edges. It had Kyera's Mark scribed large upon the center of its back. The front was polished to a high sheen. The mirror itself was incredibly thin, and lighter than one would expect.

Reldrin whistled low, "A fine piece, that. Pure mithril, unless I miss my guess."

"You guess correctly, my friend," Kyera said. handing the mirror to a'Launiira. She pulled a small jar out of the same pouch, and a small bit of metal, a dull grey in color, as well as a small glass vial filled with a pale yellowish, bubbling liquid. These she handed to Toranes.

They'd found a good spot the evening before, and prepared ahead of time. a'Launiira carried the mirror over & laid it upright against the pale grey bark of the bare lower trunk of an ironwood tree. Toranes sat himself cross-legged in front of the mirror. He set a copper coin between himself and the mirror, at its left edge, the small chunk of zinc was set near the right edge of the mirror. The vial of nitric acid rested just in front of him, and the jar in his lap. From somewhere inside his cloak, he took a small knife with a bone handle, unsheathing it and laying it so that it touched the base of the mirror.

"Is the knife an important part of this?" Kaylin asked. "I don't remember it being mentioned before."

"It once belonged to Borvaaxis," Toranes said. He left it lodged in my back one day. An inch to the left and I wouldn't be here now."

Kyera looked solemn. "Having a possession of the one he wishes to Scry upon, combined with the fact that he knew the man well will make it very difficult for the spell to fail," she said.

"The process of attempting this spell will take roughly an hour," Toranes said. "Then I'll have perhaps ten minutes to observe & attempt to note a location, or something that will help us find them. Please do not disturb me until I've finished."

The party all agreed, moving away, though not too far. Blizzard came to Kyera's call. Toranes began to cast, summoning his concentration, building a picture of Borvaaxis in his mind, chanting words of Arcane Power, "_Vossilital,… Humonovar,…Borvaaxis Miktayi'ir_". He swayed back and forth as he gathered himself, repeating the chant every five minutes or so.

After fifteen minutes, he reached slowly over to the left, pulling the copper coin across the ground until it sat directly between himself and the mirror. He removed the glass stopper from the vial of nitric acid and poured roughly a third of it over the coin, repeating the chant. The copper slowly melted into the acid. Fifteen minutes later, he reached slowly to the right, repeating the process with the bit of zinc. Another fifteen minutes and he opened the jar, removing the eye of a hawk and setting it into the now dried pool of acid. He poured the last of the acid over the eye, letting it melt away while he chanted once more.

The final fifteen minutes he spent in silence, gathering himself for the completion of the spell. Finally, his eyes closed, he took up the knife, chanting the words one last time, his voice rising in strength. As the final syllable fell from his lips, he drove the point of the knife into the ground where the acid had been. He opened his eyes and gazed intently into the mirror.

Most of the Party stopped the work they'd begun, watching from behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he saw, but to them the mirror was just that. The reflection of their friend was all they saw.

Toranes saw much more. He saw Borvaaxis moving through a fairly crowded street. The dress of the folk he passed could have been found most anywhere in the North. The dark stone of the buildings and streets told him it was not Silverymoon, nor Everlund for that matter. He walked openly, not skulking about. He wore a black swordsman's shirt and pale grey breeches. His cloak was a deep, rich grey, and lined with marten. A large battleaxe, with a glittering dark purple gem set into each side of the blade, dead center, the head balanced by a thick back spike, rested at his side, through a loop in his belt. He had a short bow slung upon his back, and a quiver with perhaps a dozen arrows.

As he walked past another building, he stepped aside to avoid another man. The man was there and gone before Toranes could get a good look at him. Not at all like Borvaaxis to show anyone courtesy, unless he was trying to avoid notice. Toranes played the scene in his mind again. The man had been wearing some sort of uniform. He couldn't quite remember the details, just the impression of a uniform, and there'd been something else, right at the edge of what he'd been able to discern, an area roughly ten feet around his target. Had it been a sign? Yes, a sign made of wood dangling over a doorway.

He filed it away. He'd try to recall it after. For now, his attention had to be on the mirror. A young woman walked past, moving the other way. Her fine cheekbones and the slight points to the tops of her ears hinted at a dash of elven blood. Borvaaxis turned his head to watch her walk past. He'd always favored women with a touch of fey.

Seeing his face was a bit of a shock to Toranes. To this point he'd only seen him from behind. He'd grown a full beard, and he'd filled out some. He was a bit more jowly, but the way he move spoke of muscle, not fat. If Toranes had passed this man in the street, he'd never have known him, except for the axe.

Borvaaxis started across the street, and another sign, above another doorway floated into view for just a moment, but it was enough. The sign was wooden again, with a red painted border and an image of a swine in pants, dancing on two legs while another played a fiddle. He was in Nesme, and either staying at, or visiting the Dancing Pig. Just after Borvaaxis crossed the threshold of the doorway, the image faded quickly to blackness. The last thing Toranes noticed was a giant bull of a man, easily the size of Halion standing to greet him. An ugly scar, and fairly recent if Toranes was any judge, ran from the man's right cheekbone to his jaw line.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he breathed deeply in and out a few times, then stood. Without seeming to, the Party rushed forward to his side.

"He is in Nesme, at an inn called the Dancing Pig."

"I know the place," Tharkunn said, grimacing. "It's a hellhole. Fine place for having a dagger stuck into your back."

"At least some of the others are there as well, I'm fairly certain." He told them of the large man he'd seen.

"His name is Palodros Zandt," Dovrayne said. His voice was deep and he spoke with the slightly lilting accents of the Moonsea region. "I've seen him in action once or twice though we've never crossed swords. The man is a butcher."

Toranes nodded. He'd heard of the man as well, and he'd suspected that it might be Zandt. "I want to be less than two hours ride from the city gates an hour from now," he said. With that, he bent down and grabbed the knife, sheathing it and returning it to its hiding place inside his cloak.

"We thought you might feel that way," Gunthar said. He gestured to where their mounts stood, saddled and ready. The camp had been broken down and most of the gear stowed in saddle bags, packs, or on the pack horse.

Myrian took the mirror and carried it to the packhorse, where Galarid helped her secure it inside one of the wicker panniers. What little remained to be packed was quickly taken care of.

Once again, Kyera conferred with Toranes, selecting a place where she would open their Gateway. They settled upon a hilltop overlooking the east bank of the River Surbrin, perhaps five miles north of the city.

They took just a few moments to organize before Toranes nodded to Kyera that they were ready. Once more she unrolled a scroll, reading the words of magic, _"__Insantimos Beltharadeu Melktenor Rhieezh."_ Again, she traced the outline of the Gateway in the air. The air rippled and the scene behind became that of a sparsely wooded, wide, flat hilltop, overlooking a wide and placid river, near enough a mile wide.

This time Toranes and Blizzard were not alone in their rush through the open Gateway. They were joined by Sylvie and Sallas, all on foot. The signal whistle came quickly and the remainder of the Party led their horses through in pairs again, each one once again turning to the left or right opposite the group before them. Gunthar and Tolmen, Viktor and Kaylin, Halion and Myrian, Galarid and a'Launiira, Reldrin and Dovrayne, with Reldrin also pulling the packhorse and Dovrayne leading a string that included his own mount, Kyera's and Tharkunn's. Tharkunn stepped through just ahead of Kyera, and when she followed, allowing the Gateway to vanish, he was ready with a steadying hand this time.

Toranes returned a moment later. "I've sent Sylvie and Sallas ahead. They'll keep up well enough on foot, but a head start won't hurt them." He approached Kyera. "Are you alright?" he asked, letting his arm wrap itself around her waist as Tharkunn let her go.

"Just a bit dizzy," she said with a smile. "It will pass in a few moments."

"I'd love to offer you those moments, but I am loathe to lose any time at all," he said as Tharkunn led Kyera's mount up. In a swift motion, he lifted her from the ground, deftly depositing her on the bay's back. He swung himself into the saddle behind her taking the reins from Tharkunn. He whispered into her ear, "I guess we'll just have to ride the first stretch together." To the others he called out, "Mount up! We ride for Nesme," and he spurred Morning Glory down the hill. Kyera leaned back into him, a small smile splayed across her lips.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN – The Gap Closes to a Step**

It was roughly an hour later that the Party rode in through the North Gate of Nesme. Toranes immediately turned them East, along Moorview Street. Tharkunn trotted ahead, disappearing into the crowd. He would find a spot and watch his people pass, looking to see if anyone was paying too much attention to them, or following, then work his way ahead again continuing to repeat the procedure until they reached the Dancing Pig.

It took only twenty minutes for them to reach the inn. Toranes, being the most likely to be recognized, waited outside, lounging in the doorway of a seamstress' shop across the street. The others loitered in the street nearby as well. Borvaaxis might know Viktor's face as well, so the knight found a spot down the street, gazing in through the window of a shop that sold rugs.

Tharkunn entered first, followed by Gunthar, Kyera, Tolmen, Reldrin and Dovrayne a moment later. The others held themselves ready to rush to the defense of their comrades at the first hint of trouble. It didn't take long for them to return, Tharkunn signaling for the Party to regroup in the Pig's stableyard, affording them room to gather and talk in a space where it would be difficult for folk to listen in unseen.

"Zandt and another man stayed here last night," Tharkunn began. "From the description the innkeeper gave, I'm guessing the other was Drezid. They met Borvaaxis, just as you saw in the Mirror, paid and left immediately. He had no idea where they were headed."

"Borvaaxis didn't take a room?" Toranes asked.

"No, but I heard two men at the bar talking about a man whose body was found a mile or so Southwest of the gates this morning. It looked like he'd been mauled by a pack of wolves." Tharkunn's voice and manner were grim.

"We heard the same," Tolmen said. "A woodsman at the next table over was saying that it made two bodies in three days."

"Borvaaxis?" Kyera asked, her eyes locking onto Toranes'. His answer was a moment's pause, followed by a grim nod.

"Any idea where we should look now?" Galarid asked.

"The city gates, South and West," Toranes said. "The East gate leads into the Evermoors. If folk had headed that way, there would be talk of it. We came through the North Gate. We'd have all but run into them if they'd left that way. They wouldn't have wanted to bring all their men, and especially not the hobgoblins into the city. That means a camp outside, but not too far off. The attacks indicate a general hunting ground for Borvaaxis. We'll split up into two groups. The gate guards at one gate or the other will remember seeing Zandt. He isn't easy to miss. We'll be on their trail again soon, and not too far behind."

"I'll take the South Gate," Tharkunn said.

"Take Sylvie with you," Toranes replied, "and Gunthar, Dovrayne, a'Launiira, Galarid & Reldrin. I'll take the others with me. We'll meet up on Drayler's Hill a mile or so to the Southwest. There is a small stand of blue spruce at the top. You know the spot?"

"I do," Sylvie said, after Tharkunn shook his head.

"We'll meet up there in an hour," Toranes said. "We don't go after them alone, either group. We regroup and then decide our next course of action."

"Agreed," Tharkunn and Gunthar both answered simultaneously.

With a plan in place, they quickly sorted themselves out and got moving. The guards at the South Gate remembered men matching the descriptions of Zandt and Drezid given to them by Tharkunn, but not Borvaaxis. They claimed that the two men were alone. Suspicions began to creep up in the mind of the former thief.

"Sylvie," he said. "You lead them on to Drayler's Hill alone. I've got something to check out. I'll meet you there soon enough."

"What is it?" Gunthar asked.

"If Borvaaxis didn't leave with the others, he could still be in the city. If that is the case, he might catch on to us."

"And the biggest advantage we hold at the moment is that these Zhents don't know we're chasing them," Dovrayne said, nodding in approval as he saw what Tharkunn was aiming at.

"At least one of us should stay with you," Gunthar said. "Judging by Toranes' reactions when he found out about this man, I'm guessing that he is quite formidable."

"He is," Tharkunn agreed. "However, you might need every sword if the Zhents are nearby."

"We'll manage," Gunthar said. "I'm thinking it would be best if you kept Dovrayne with you. You've worked together before. He's probably the best candidate."

"Fair enough," Tharkunn agreed. "He's not quiet, but he can blend in surprisingly well when he chooses to." With a hitch of his head indicating that Dovrayne should follow, he turned back toward the city, Dovrayne wheeling his mount to follow.

"Save a few of those hobgoblins and purple cloaks for me," Dovrayne said. "I wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to take down a few."

"Aye, laddie," Reldrin laughed, patting the head of his axe. "We'll leave you the scraps to finish up when you're done foolin' around here."

Sylvie had moved on ahead, and the others followed her lead. Before long, she found the tracks she sought. Tharkunn had discovered from the innkeeper that Zandt and Drezid had stabled a pair of horses with him, one of them a huge draft horse, over eighteen hands. The guards had confirmed that they were mounted when they left the city. The size of Zandt's mount made it almost child's play for her. She noted the trail as it left the road, turning away further South, before leading her group to the rendezvous at Drayler's Hill.

It was only forty-five minutes from the time they'd parted that Sylvie's group found themselves reunited with their companions, including Blizzard, who'd been waiting outside the city. A few minutes of explanation followed as they informed Toranes, and his group of what they'd learned, and of Tharkunn's search for Borvaaxis back in Nesme, and then they were doubling back toward where Sylvie had seen the tracks.

"Tharkunn will have no problem finding these tracks on his own," Toranes said, as he bent over the ground studying the hoof prints. "To be safe, we'll leave him a few extra signs as we go." With that, he started off following the tracks. Sylvie and Sallas fanned out, each taking a flanking position, maybe fifty yards to either side, their bows held with arrows nocked, but not drawn. The others rode behind, each one with a hand on his weapon, or hers, or with the words and gestures of a spell running through their mind.

They were the hunters, but they knew all too well that their prey was every bit as wily, and dangerous as themselves.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – Two Against One & a Debt Repaid**

Darkness had fallen in Nesme, the streets lit only by the occasional lantern, and the wan silvery light of the half-moon. Tharkunn and Dovrayne moved carefully, and separately, down Watershed Street, just East of the South Gate. They'd left their horses in a stable a few streets over, a short distance from the South Gate, so that they could be on the move quickly if the

Need were to be. Tharkunn had also pressed a few coins into the palm of the Gate Captain to be sure there would be no hassles with letting them out after nightfall.

They'd agreed upon a plan. Tharkunn would move around to likely sources of information asking after a man meeting the description of Borvaaxis. If the man was as good, and as careful, as they suspected, and if he really was still in the city, it wouldn't take too long for him to hear of it. Dovrayne would trail along behind him at a very discreet distance, watching his back. If they found nothing by a within a few hours of dawn they'd be on the road with the first light.

Dovrayne stood at the end of an alley that ran between a cobbler's shop and a bakery connecting Watershed and Ravenbow Streets. He fiddled with the plain silver ring on his left hand. It was a huge advantage for their hunt. In broad daylight it was useless, but at night, or otherwise in shadow, twisting the ring and uttering the proper command word made the shadows around the wearer deepen for an hour, making him quite difficult to spot, so long as he stayed in, or quite near shadow. It could be used thrice in a tenday. Dovrayne was on his second use this evening.

Down the street, he watched as Tharkunn stepped out from the Great Stag and turned to his right. No one else was out and about on the streets. The cold night air of the North had driven most everyone into their homes, or a warm tavern. Dovrayne waited a full count of fifteen, not wanting to step out himself if someone were watching to see if Tharkunn had protection. The magic of the ring was dulled somewhat when he moved. It proved to be the right choice. Just as he reached fourteen, a head popped out from a doorway Tharkunn had just passed, searching carefully in both directions before stepping out and following him.

The massive shape, and the light glinting off the axe-head were more than enough to name him true enough, as if any normal footpad had ever been quite sush a combination of brute size and deathly quiet grace. He raised his crossbow, a quarrel already set and ready to fire, taking aim squarely between Borvaaxis' shoulder blades.

The man began to move a little more quickly now, but no less quietly, the axe sliding from the loop on his belt without a sound. Tharkunn gave no indication that he'd seen or heard anything, and yet Dovrayne doubted that

he'd be caught off his guard, even by someone as skilled as Borvaaxis.

He adjusted his aim just a tick to the right, leading the big man and squeezed the trigger as he exhaled, sending the quarrel whistling through the night. By the time the shot had covered three quarters of the distance, Dovrayne had dropped the crossbow at the end of the alley and charged into the street, swinging his shield around with one hand and pulling his warhammer free, a bellow escaping from his lips, "Borxaaxis!!!!!!" and he ran.

The big man heard the whistle of the quarrel and Dovrayne's bellow at roughly the same time, but neither was soon enough to prevent the quarrel from burying itself in his right shoulder, despite his attempt to dodge aside. He stumbled a few steps to regain his footing, only to see the flash of silver that was Tharkunn's blade coming straight for his throat. He threw himself into a roll, to the right again, toward a nearby alley, feeling the air stir as the blade whistled past. If he lured the swordsman in, he could finish him before his friend arrived.

He came up and pivoted to the left, using the handle of the axe to block a stab from Tharkunn's dagger, continuing the motion so that the other man had to duck back from a blow to his face. Borvaaxis took the chance to shuffle back a few steps toward the alley. He didn't dare turn his back on the man. He was too good, but the other one was closing fast.

Tharkunn slipped back away from the axe handle and did a quick calculation in his head about just how long he'd have to keep Borvaaxis out of the alley for Dovrayne to join the fight. A thought occurred to him and he went with it. He feinted with the sword, and allowed his left boot to slip on one of the cobblestones. Borvaaxis jumped at the chance, as Tharkunn knew he would, bringing his axe down in a sweeping arc. The problem for Borvaaxis was that Tharkunn was no longer there. As soon as the swing began, he threw himself forward in a tumbling roll past his opponent, the dagger slicing a thin gash in the side of Borvaaxis' leg on the way by.

The big man let out another roar of pain. The damned swordsman had managed to cut off his escape route, and the other was almost on him now as well. Things were going poorly.

Dovrayne slowed as he got close. He circled a bit to the left, keeping Borvaaxis between himself and Tharkunn. Borvaaxis swung his axe out as he dodged left, away from Tharkunn's sword. Dovrayne raised his shield, shuddering as the axe edge slid off the shield.

"Flamidor," he called out as he swung the warhammer, causing Borvaaxis to duck back again, just as the head of the hammer burst into magical flames. It had just the effect he'd hoped it would, surprise. He'd counted on the shock value. It was why he'd waited, rather than igniting the hammer during his approach. Borvaaxis was distracted by it just enough for Tharkunn to slip his dagger past the man's guard, leaving a deep puncture wound just above the man's kidney.

Seeing just how badly things were going, Borvaaxis opted for a different plan. He swung the axe in a huge arc, not caring that he'd be leaving himself open at the end of the swing. As his two opponents ducked back from the swing, he threw back his head and howled, letting the beast within take him.

Tharkunn watched in horror as the man before him twisted, his already impressive frame bulging outward. He could see the tendons stretching hear them popping. His nose elongated into a vicious muzzle, loaded with razor sharp fangs. His ears stretched. Grey-white fur popped out all over his body. The fingers of his hands elongated, his nails extending into sharp claws.

Dovrayne and Tharkunn both lunged forward before he could complete the change, Tharkunn's sword biting deeply into the beast's side, while Dovrayne's flaming hammer crashed into his abdomen, filling the air with the scent of burnt fur.

Borvaaxis, or the beast that had been Borvaaxis screamed in pain and fury, his claws lashing out to either side. Dovrayne's shield deflected the worst of the blow aimed at him, but the fearsome strength behind the blow was still enough to knock him from his feet, sending him sprawling on the cobblestone street. Tharkunn was less luck, his dagger parry coming too slow. The claw slashed across his chest, tearing three long painful gashes, and sending him crashing backward into the alley.

If Borvaaxis had lips in his beast form, he'd have smiled, but a snarl worked just as well for him. He watched as the swordsman scrabbled backward against the alley wall, struggling to regain his balance, the dagger falling from his left hand. He readied himself to leap.

Tharkunn knew he'd have just one chance to pull this off. The dynamics of the fight had changed, and his side no longer held the advantage. He needed to regain it, and quickly. The speed and power of Borvaaxis' beast form was a serious problem. He stumbled back along the wall, using every b it of his guile to make it appear that he was shaken worse than he was, that he was having trouble getting his feet back under him. He dropped the dagger, glancing down as if in horror, drawing his opponent's eyes along with his own to the fallen blade, giving him just enough time, as he spun his body one last time, to slip that hand, free now, into his pouch, palming a small red gem, a fire opal.

Borvaaxis hesitated only a half-second as he considered his options. He judged the swordsman the greater threat and leapt into the alley after him, claws extended to tear at him, jaws wide, anticipating the soft flesh of the man's throat.

Dovrayne scrambled to his feet, trying to shout out a warning, an unnecessary one as fate would have it. Tharkunn reacted in a heartbeat. As the beast leapt after him, he tossed something tiny into its path. Instinctively, Dovrayne turned his head. The gem erupted with a flash of light and heat, expanding into a fireball roughly twenty feet around in an instant, with the beast caught in mid-leap diving straight into its heart.

Tharkunn threw himself backward, straining every muscle, every nerve in his body, just managing to evade the flames himself. He tucked into a ball and rolled a few more feet, coming back to his feet and spinning back to face the alley, but not fast enough.

Now hideously burnt, and flesh all across his body red and swollen, most of the fur burned away, Borvaaxis pushed through the pain, continuing his leap through the flames and coming out the other side right on the man's back. As he rolled and came up, Borvaaxis lunged, grabbing him by the throat with one claw, and taking hold of the wrist of his sword arm with the other. He slammed the man back against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs, his claw squeezing the throat, cutting off his air.

Tharkunn tried to pull at the claw digging into his windpipe, but the beast was freakishly strong. His sword was useless, and it fell from his hand as he started to turn purple, his body beginning to convulse from lack of oxygen. He'd hoped that the Fireball Gem would kill the thing, but it wasn't to be. He could see how badly it was hurt, but there was something of a feral insanity in its golden eyes. He tried to kick out, but to no avail.

Suddenly, Dovrayne was there, his hammer slamming into the beast's back, once, and again.

Borvaaxis howled out in pain again. In his pure rage, his need to kill the man who'd burned him, he'd let instinct, his lust for blood, overtake his mind. He'd forgotten the other man, and his damnable burning hammer. He tossed aside the swordsman like a rag doll, feeling satisfied at the crunching sound when his body hit the far wall of the alley, and turned to face the other.

Dovrayne watched Tharkunn slump to the ground against the far wall. He was pretty sure that several of his ribs were cracked, if not broken, or he may have even been killed outright. Either way, he needed every ounce of concentration to survive himself. The beast proved that true, swinging a claw at his head. Dovrayne ducked behind his shield, bringing it up to block the blow.

The initial rush of rage and adrenaline now past, Borvaaxis was starting to feel just how badly he'd been hurt. He needed to end this now. He swung at the man again.

It wasn't just in his mind. Dovrayne was sure of it now. The beast was slower, weaker. Tharkunn had hurt him badly. Blocking yet another blow, Dovrayne surprised the thing by mustering a charge, leading with his shield, driving the thing backward in a moment of poor balance, trying to push it past Tharkunn, get himself between them. It was in that moment that Tharkunn played his final card. Battered, somewhat broken, unable to even reach his sword at the moment, let alone swing it, he took the opportunity offered to him. As Dovrayne drove the creature backward, he stuck out his leg, tangling it with the creature's legs. Combined with the force of Dovrayne's bull rush, Borvaaxis went down in a sprawling heap.

Dovrayne didn't waste the opportunity. He pounded on the downed beast, swinging his hammer several times, each one finding the beast's body.

Borvaaxis howled again and again as the hammer crashed into him, breaking ribs and other bones, the flames searing his flesh. He tried to scramble up and run, only to have the hammer shatter his knee. Darkness began to swim before his eyes. That was his world now, darkness and pain. A final blow ended his pain, once and for all.

Dovrayne added a few more swings, even after he was certain the man was dead. Could shifters rise again? He didn't know. Better to be certain. Silver. That was something that would affect him. He remembered someone telling him that once, long ago. He'd bought a silver dagger once, just in case. He allowed the flames on his hammer to extinguish, sliding the handle back through the loop on his belt. He pulled the silver dagger from a sheath up his left sleeve. Rolling Borvaaxis onto his back, and he was Borvaaxis again, returning to his original form in death, he slipped the dagger between the man's ribsand into his still heart. He left it there. Better safe than sorry. He could get another.

"Get me up." Tharkunn's voice was weak, clearly filled with pain. Dovrayne. "We have to get out of here…cough cough… before anyone gets up the courage…cough… to come out here and see what all the ruckus…cough… was about." He accepted Dovrayne's help, using the wall to slide himself up to his feet.

He sheathed his sword and dagger awkwardly after Dovrayne handed them to him. They went back to the alley to get the crossbow, but it was long gone. Apparently, at least one other person had been around.

It wasn't long before they heard the stomping of several pair of boots coming toward them. They turned into another alley and Dovrayne used his ring for the final time, using his own body, and the shadows around it to cover Tharkun as he all but held the man up against the wall.

A squad of guardsmen, some ten strong ran past, cudgels out and ready. Dovrayne waited a moment, allowing them to move on a ways before continuing on to the stables. He was almost carrying Tharkunn now, the man's arm draped over his shoulders. He slipped the stableman a silver crown. The horses had been curried and fed, then re-saddled, as requested.

It took some doing, he was hurting some himself, but Dovrayne got Tharkunn into his saddle before mounting up himself. He held onto the other man's reins, leading Tharkun's horse while riding his own. It was about all Tharkunn could do to hold the pommel of his saddle and keep himself upright.

"We should get you some help," Dovrayne said. "I saw a temple of Tyr near the North Gate when we rode in this afternoon."

"No," Tharkunn said. "Just get us outside and, back to the others…cough… I'll be alright."

"You don't seem alright."

"Kaylin and a'Launiira…cough… will have me feeling like new…cough cough… in no time."

In another few minutes, they'd reached the gates. The Gate Captain eyed them suspiciously, but he opened the sally port, as promised, letting them ride out into the darkness. After all, he'd already accepted the coin.

They rode a short ways before stopping. "Good thing you paid him in advance," Dovrayne said as he dismounted, pulling a lantern from his saddle-bags and lighting it. He tied his own horse's reins to the back of Tharkunn's saddle and led Tharkunn's horse as he walked, keeping a sharp eye out for any signs.

As they walked, Dovrayne said, "You know all those favors I owed you…"

"Consider them…cough… cleared," Tharkunn said, through as much of a smile as he could manage. It wasn't long before they found the first of the signs Toranes had left for them.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – The Zhentish Camp**

Toranes, Sylvie, and Tharkunn, his wounds now Healed, lay upon a good-sized hillock, looking down upon the Zhentish camp spread out below them under the light of moon. It was laid out in a fine militaristic fashion, the tents set up in straight rows, each with a smoke hole at the top, fine white smoke slowly billowing out from the fires that kept the soldiers inside warm, horses picketed nearby, and sentries walking in pairs, up and down the rows. At least that was how things were in the inner camp, the camp where the Zhent soldiers, and presumably Drezid and his inner circle were.

This inner camp was surrounded by several others, six to be precise, in a rough circle around the Zhents, each consisting of a small fire and a half-dozen or so hobgoblins wrapped in ratty blankets around it, two of the beasts awake, keeping watch at each fire. A pair of the patrolling Zhents would randomly pick a hobgoblin camp every twenty minutes or so and approach, to be sure the creatures were keeping their watch rather than sleeping through it. In all, it was a fine system, one which maximized the use of the beasts as an early warning system for the soldiers, should the camp come under attack.

"I count thirty-seven of the Bloody Stones," Sylvie said. Toranes' eyes were good in the dark, but her elven vision far surpassed his own.

"And ten of those four-man tents for the soldiers, assuming each is full would make forty men," Toranes replied.

"Reasonably well-trained men," Tharkunn corrected him, "if their camp and the discipline they're showing are anything to judge by."

"And those three smaller tents, in a cluster at the center of the soldiers' tents, they would be for their leaders," Sylvie said.

"There might be three, maybe four of them, all together," Tharkunn put in.

"We know Drezid and Zandt," Toranes said. Drezid's tent will be the largest, and no one is likely to want to share a tent with Zandt, so three then." There was speculation in his voice, but not much.

"Who is in the third?" Sylvie asked.

Before Toranes could answer, Tharkunn said, "Drezid could have an apprentice with him. That would be four."

"I don't think so," Toranes answered. "He's not the type to share his spells and knowledge, at least from what I've heard." Turning to Sylvie, he answered her query. "There's no way for us to know now. In the morning, we'll scout them again. We should get a chance then to see what is what."

"We'll have to pick a different spot," she said. "If they have any sense, they'll come up here before they leave to have a look around before they set out."

"I would, if I were them," Toranes said, nodding in agreement. "We'll cover our tracks when he head back to the others, then set a camp beyond that last ridge tonight. We'll follow them, at a discreet distance, for a day or two to be certain of their course, then circle around ahead of them and set an ambush."

"That does seem like our best chance, given the odds," Tharkunn said.

"Do you have a spot in mind?" Sylvie asked.

"I do," Toranes answered, "if they continue in their current direction, which seems rather likely. It's roughly three days away. They only have twenty horses. That's enough for the leaders and officers, a few packhorses and remounts, and a team to pull their supply wagon. The rest of the soldiers and the hobgoblins are on foot." It was clear from the expression on his face that he was thinking things through as he spoke.

"That would square with the tracks we followed to find them," Sylvie said.

"We'll be able to move much quicker with almost all of our folk mounted, and just you three on foot," Tharkunn said.

"It might even take them four days to reach the spot I'm thinking of," Toranes said. "If they continue on the same course tomorrow, we can skirt around them with reasonable certainty that they'll pass our spot. We get there ahead and do a little work, we'll improve our odds that much more."

"What about Borvaaxis?" Tharkunn asked. "They might turn back if they miss him."

"We'll have to hope that they won't," Toranes replied.

The three of them started sliding back down away from the apex of the hill until they were certain they couldn't be seen by the sentries below. Toranes and Sylvie stayed behind, doing their best to erase any traces that the three of them had been watching the camp while Tharkunn moved ahead to get the rest of the Party moving back beyond the ridge where they would make camp.

"Do you think it will work?" Sylvie asked as they worked.

"Yes," Toranes said, without embellishment.

"I hope that you're right."

"Me too."


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN – A Lively Discussion**

When Toranes and the others returned to the Party that night, there was some lively discussion, as their plan was being developed, about the ethics of simply attacking the Zhents out of hand. Myrian had brought up the point, her accent growing stronger with her passion, "If we seemply attahk a group of trahvelers, even Zhents, een open territory, where they've broken no lahz that any of us could sweer to, does thaaht not make us as bad as theem, or worus peerhaaps, since we shuud be abuuf such things?"

Gunthar responded first, "Don't forget the murders in Nesme, most likely the work of Borvaaxis, who was working with them."

"And the fact that he tried to kill Tharkunn for simply inquiring about him," a'Launiira added. Most of the others nodded along.

"And let's not forget," Kyera spoke up, "that it was the Zhents who killed Simo." Sylvie and Sallas both looked sad at the mention of their deceased brother, but neither flinched.

"Eye guess, yuu haf a point," Myrian said.

"There is also the larger picture to consider here," Toranes said. "We've known for some time that Drezid and his ilk are searching for Netherese artifacts and spells. At all costs, we must deny those to them. It is the very thing we set out to do."

"We set out to investigate," Kaylin said. "I don't remember any discussions about ambushes, and killing them unprovoked."

"We set out to investigate, and to stop them from getting their hands on the secrets of the Netherese," Kyera countered. "We may be too late in that already, and I'd say that unprovoked is not an accurate description."

"Who among us can say what they found at Mt. Redhorn," Tharkunn said. "Whatever it was, it set them upon the course they walk now."

"Isn't the likelihood of a fight the reason you recruited Viktor, Sylvie, Sallas, and myself?" Dovrayne asked.

"If I thought there was another way, besides a fight, to end this," Toranes put in, "I'd take it, but Drezid won't stop, and the men who work for him won't stop. The hobgoblins, of course, will take any excuse to kill again." He spoke to all of them, but his eyes locked first with Kaylin, and then Myrian.

"You're right, of course," Kaylin admitted. "But Myrian is right as well. It seems beneath us, like something they would do."

"Would you prefer that we faced them straight up," Tharkunn asked gently, "their eighty or so against the fifteen of us?"

"We survived the orcs, and they had nearly as many," Kaylin said.

"Because they were surprised by the arrival of our new friends," Gunthar said, gesturing toward Toranes, Kyera & Tharkunn.

"And they had no powerful mage," Reldrin growled. "The more of them we put down before they're ready, the better I say, especially if the mage is among the first to fall."

"Him being the first to go down would be my preference as well," Galarid said.

"This way we have a chance to survive the fight, probably even win it, if we're smart about things," Toranes said. "If we try to take them head-on, we lose."

"A few might escape," Tharkunn said, "but most of us would end up in the hobgoblin cook pots." Myrian shuddered at the thought. Halion wrapped an arm around her, in a gesture of support.

"We could call upon Lady Alustriel for the help she promised," Tolmen suggested.

Kaylin nodded in agreement. "If Drezid is forced to face her directly, he might just surrender," she said.

Viktor and Toranes both responded quickly, and negatively. "I have no wish to see the High Lady placed so directly into harm's way," Viktor said.

"Best we handle it ourselves, if we can," Toranes said, a speculative light in his eyes. "However, since we now know what and how many we're facing, I'd not find it amiss if we had a bit more support ourselves." He turned to Kyera and said, "Fancy another quick trip?"

"In the morning, it should be no problem," she replied. "Will I be bringing anyone with me this time?"

"Much as I'd prefer it," he said, "I think we'd be better served to have you return with three more for our side." He paused a moment, then said, "A quick Sending tonight should allow us to be certain that you'll have adequate escort to the city. But whom should you bring back? That is the question."

Once again, names were bandied about, some of them the same as before. In the end, it was decided that Kyera would seek out two men and an elf. The first man was another mercenary, a friend of Dovrayne's, and a skilled warrior, by the name of Cedryl Aljuna. "I doubt he'll agree to work for the same wages I have," Dovrayne warned them with a smile.

"We'll compensate him," Toranes said. Dovrayne just nodded. He'd not doubted it.

The second man was another old friend of Toranes' another tracker for the Knights-in-Silver, named Lars Tedromon, though Lars was still serving with the Knights. Viktor informed them that he'd been in the barracks when he himself had left to join them, and he hadn't been scheduled for a patrol for another week, at least. He was equally skilled with a long sword or a bow.

The elf was Kyera's suggestion, an acquaintance she'd met through another friend. He'd made a home in Silverymoon after leaving Evereska. He'd lost his wife and child, during a trip to Scornubel, to a large warband of hobgoblins. She'd heard that his skill with a bow was nearly unparalleled.

"What is his name?" Sylvie asked.

"Gloridel Inglorion," she answered.

"I've heard of him," Sallas said.

"He used to be the Commander for their army," Sylvie said.

"While you're in the city," Dovrayne said, approaching Kyera, "I wonder if I could have stop and see a man for me, named Callister. He has a shop on the West Way, near the South Gate. He makes very good crossbows, and I'm in need of a new one." He tried to hand Kyera a small pouch, obviously filled with coin for the crossbow. She refused to take it.

"We'll take care of the cost," Toranes told him.

"No need for that," Dovrayne answered. "It's my weapon."

"Which you lost in service to us, saving Tharkunn's life no less," Kyera replied.

"Put your coin away, my friend," Tharkunn said. "They're right, and you know it's true." Dovrayne looked thoughtful a moment, then tucked the pouch back into an inside pocket of his cloak, nodding his thanks to both.

"Should I get anything else?" Kyera asked, mimicking their conversation from a few days earlier.

"A scroll, if you can find one," Toranes answered. "Fireball."

"I can cast it without the scroll," Kyera said, "as you well know. So can a'Launiira."

"But I can't," he replied. "And you could have another look around for that Curing Wand if you have time."

They talked a bit more, coming up with a few alternate names, should any of their intended allies be unavailable, or unwilling. They also decided that Kyera would report back to Alustriel, and eventually Teleport straight to Keyes' Pass from Silverymoon, where the others would meet here around sundown on the second day. Kyera cast a Sending, to Lars Tedromon, asking him to meet her outside the city, at a nearby grove in the morning, satisfying Toranes that she'd be well protected. They settled in then to rest, one pair keeping watch at all times as the others slept.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY – An Ambush Prepared**

Around dusk, two days later, the Party met Kyera and their reinforcements, minus Lars, at the south end of Keyes' Pass. The group from Silverymoon had Teleported in a few hours earlier, and begun to set up a camp just south of the Pass. Lars had immediately set out to scout the lands south of them. "No sense getting caught unawares by a threat from behind while we wait for these Zhents," he'd said.

As the Party rode in from the North, Sylvie could see why Toranes had chosen this spot for their confrontation with Drezid and his Zhents. The lands they'd ridden through from the north were wild and untamed, difficult to traverse. Their enemies would be funneled straight through this fairly narrow, roughly half a mile-long passage. Any other route would take them much longer, and be far more difficult.

There were steep-banked hills to either side, with only sparse tree cover, and a pair of large boulders at the south end of the passage which their own Party would use for cover. The Zhents would have very little room to maneuver, and almost no cover for themselves.

Putting Kyera, Kaylin and Sallas above the passage atop one hillside, and a'Launiira, Myrian and Sylvie atop the other, across from them, would allow them to rain spells and arrows down upon the Zhents from above. It would be a difficult climb to get them up there, but even harder for the Zhents under fire, and the Party had been pushing hard. They had over a half-day's march on their enemy now, giving them plenty of time to get set in place. The Zhents would certainly make camp short of the Pass and march through sometime before mid-day the following morning.

It turned out that Kyera had negotiated a deal with Cedryl Aljuna, two hundred gold crowns for the risk he'd be taking in the coming battle plus a share of any treasure found afterward, and then ten gold crowns per week until they made it back to Silverymoon. He accepted the topaz that Dovrayne had refused for half his two hundred, and a promise of payment upon return to Silverymoon for the rest, including a letter from Toranes that he could take to the Palace, authorizing payment, if he was the only survivor. Lars had agreed because Toranes had asked, & Gloridel for expenses and the chance to kill hobgoblins.

Before long, they began some preparatory work, which would only make their position stronger. Kyera had began digging a large hole just short of the southern end of the pass, using a Move Earth spell, leaving only a pair of fairly narrow, straight bridges of earth. a'Launiira would wait until they suspected the Zhents to be an hour or so away and then use another spell, Hallucinatory Terrain, to make the ground look undisturbed. With any luck, the first rank or two of the Zhents would march right into the deep hole before they realized that there was a problem.

Toranes, Tharkunn, Lars and Galarid would use the boulders for cover, attacking with bows after the initial confusion, with Sylvie and Sallas joining them, firing from above. Kyera, Kaylin, a'Launiira & Myrian would join the fray with any spells they had which might be useful in such a fight, while the remainder of the Party, led by Gunthar, would block the north end of the pass, after waiting for the Zhents to pass their hiding place, cutting off any retreat. Dovrayne, Reldrin and Cedryl would add to the ranged assault with their crossbows until it was time to switch to melee weapons.

Blizzard would stay on the top of the ridge near Kyera, guarding her at Toranes' command. She was intelligent for a wolf, maybe even downright brilliant for an animal, but she'd never grasp the concept of a pit hidden by an illusion. Toranes had no intention of running the risk she'd fall in by accident.

Tolmen would be on the other ridge top, serving as a scout and guard for a'Launiira's group. He was a fair fighter, but for what was likely going to happen in the Pass, he'd be better utilized atop the ridge. He had a sling, as well as his short sword, if needed.

Lars returned by mid-evening. He'd found no signs of any serious threats within a quarter of a day to the south. He was a wiry man, in his early forties, with dark hair and a soft, slightly nasally voice. His eyes were dark as well, and he wore soft buckskin clothing and a tough, dark brown leather jerkin, with blackened metal studs. He wore an ornate-looking long sword on his back and carried a fine longbow, carved from what appeared to be white ash. Each tip was carved in the likeness of a cresting wave.

Gloridel was older than Sylvie and Sallas, by some five hundred years, though it seemed to have little outward affect upon his appearance, thanks to his elven blood. He had high cheekbones and a slender, elven build. His hair was jet black, and worn long, down past his shoulders, though it was held back from his face by a delicate silver circlet set with a pale green chrysoberyl gem at the center of his brow. His own bow was made of dark wood, perhaps maple, with veins of a lighter color running through it, though it was otherwise unadorned. He had a slim-bladed elven long sword in a scabbard at his right hip. His eyes were a deep, forst green and they seemed perpetually sad, even when a smile lit up the rest of his face. He wore a fashionable coat of deep green that was a near perfect match to his eyes, but no armor of any sort.

Cedryl Aljuna was shorter than either of the others, no more than five-foot-six, with a build like a bull. He carried a short sword on his left hip, balanced by a mace through a metal loop on his right. He had a light crossbow strapped to the outside of his pack with a bolt case strapped to his left outer thigh. His primary weapon was a halberd. It resembled an axe head with a slightly curved back spike, or hook, designed to pull a man from a horse, set on a six foot long, thick wooden shaft. He wore a shirt of chain mail that seemed to barely fit across his barrel chest. His voice was deep, almost rumbling, like a dwarf.

Around the campfire that evening, the plans were finalized, at least until the first arrow left the bow in the morning. After all, no plan ever really survives first contact with the enemy.

The Party was up and moving before the first pale rays of light shone over the eastern horizon. There was still plenty to do. Lars, Sylvie and Sallas searched the Pass, making sure they could find no sign of the Party's passage there.

Kyera, Myrian, Kaylin, a'Launiira & Toranes spent some time working through the spells they planned to use, and how to be most effective with them. All but Toranes also spent time in memorizing spells for the day, or praying for them.

Gunthar, Galarid, Tolmen and Tharkunn found a spot around the back of the western hillside, a large cave which they examined, then stored most of the Party's supplies which were not essential to the fight. They picketed the horses inside, using a few climbing spikes hammered into the wall and some rope. The cave would be a fine defensible position for the group if they were forced to fall back during the battle.

Dovrayne, Halion, Viktor, Gloridel & Cedryl double-checked weapons, arrows, bolts and armor, making sure everything was ready for the coming test. By mid-morning, all was in place. From their spot on the Eastern ridge, a'Launiira and her group would be able to see the Zhents coming from several miles off. There were enough trees and vegetation on the tops of the ridges to provide them adequate cover, both before and during the fight.

It was nearly three hours to mid-day when the Party took their places, Kyera and her group atop the Western ridge, a'Launiira and her group atop the Eastern ridge, Toranes and his group behind the boulders at the South end of the pass, Gunthar and his group in a hollow behind a ridge just outside the North end of the pass.

The sun was just shy of being directly overhead when a sharp whistle came from the Eastern ridge. The Zhents had been spotted. They would be roughly three miles off. a'Launiira began to cast her illusion. It was almost time.


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE – The Battle of Keyes' Pass**

It wasn't long before the Zhents marched right into the pass. They'd split the hobgoblins into two large groups, one trotting ahead of the main party by a few hundred yards, and another behind it. The Zhent soldiers also marched in a similar pattern though in a far more organized manner. A single Officer, mounted, rode amongst each group of Zhent soldiers. At the center of the formation was the supply wagon, driven by a single Zhent, and several other mounted figures.

It was easy enough to pick out Zandt, astride his massive draft horse. The distinctive robes were enough to name the Priest of Cyric. Another Officer, probably his Lieutenant, rode at Zandt's right hand. The two leaned close from their saddles, discussing something. Drezid rode at the forefront of that small group, the others giving him a bit of space. If the expression on his face was anything to judge by, he was furious about something.

Dovrayne lay under the low hanging boughs of a blue spruce, using the shadows the thick covering of needles provided to allow his ring to make him all but invisible to the passing Zhents. The rest of his group waited a short distance behind him, in a small fold, out of sight of the Zhents. When the last of the Zhentish rear guard was well and truly past, they would file out and block the back end of the pass, effectively cutting off a retreat.

Kyera watched from her perch on the Western ledge. It wouldn't be much longer before the hobgoblins at the front of the formation would begin disappearing into the pit that a'Launiira's illusion was keeping them from seeing. Her job would be to put Drezid, and hopefully the rest of the Zhent Commanders on their heels immediately. She began running the chants for a Fireball spell through her mind.

On the opposite ledge, a'Launiira was preparing something similar. She knew that Kyera would be targeting the mage, Drezid, so she planned something else. She'd drop her Fireball on the big man, Zandt. It would hurt him, and the Officer with him, and with any luck, if she placed it well, it might just set their supply wagon ablaze.

Toranes and his small group had agreed. Their first two arrows, each, would be targeted at Drezid. After that, each would pick his own targets. If it seemed called for, Galarid & Tharkunn would cross the land bridge they'd left over the pit, and engage the enemy in close combat, while Toranes and Lars continued to fire arrows, before eventually joining them.

Suddenly, the first half dozen hobgoblins disappeared from sight, all but one dropping into the pit. The last one had the good fortune to have been lined up with the land bridge, but the bad fortune of being dimwitted enough to turn and run toward his nearest companion, who'd screamed as the ground seemed to drop out from under his feet, promptly joining said friend in the pit, some fifteen feet deep. Another three of the creatures trotted themselves into the trap before one caught on. That was very nearly half of the front vanguard.

As Toranes had ordered, everyone waited, for just a second, allowing Sylvie and Sallas to take the first shots, in honor of the fallen Simo. A pair of arrows streaked, one from either ridge, Sylvie's striking the mage in his right shoulder, Sallas' in his left thigh.

A pair of tiny balls of fire flew right behind the arrows, each expanding as it fell toward the Zhents. Kyera's spell dropped right on Drezid. As the fire reached him, a burst of what appeared to be some sort of blackish-blue energy sprang up around him. When the flames dissipated, he seemed almost unharmed. His mount, screamed, and bucked once before falling over dead. The Doomscribe, Kael, though Kyera did not know that was his name, was caught at the edge of the blast, and was thrown from his horse as the creature reared and then raced forward, into the back of the Zhent soldiers ahead.

a'Launiira's spell dropped between Zandt and his Lieutenant. Both, dropped off their mounts quickly as the beasts started to fall. Neither enjoyed the immense blast of heat, and both were well singed, but alive. The blast did catch the side of the wagon, and the wood did catch, but the soldier driving was too far away to be burned, and he did a fine job of controlling the pair of horses who formed the wagon team, preventing them from charging in a panic.

Toranes and his crew launched several shafts in the direction of Drezid, who was just getting up from the ground. Several of the shafts hit, causing him to stumble back.

At the rear, Dovrayne and his group charged out to block the road. As the rest set up to use their crossbows and advance, Gloridel put a single shaft through the throat of the Officer among the Zhents to the rear, toppling him from his horse, while Dovrayne, Reldrin and Cedryl lined up their shots.

Myrian called out a word in magic, "_Laninok_", and three small balls of pure magical energy, a swirling miasma of crimson red and pure white, raced down from the hillside, striking Zandt in the chest, one of them twisting right around the Lieutenant to hit the bigger man.

It was about as fine a start as the Party could have hoped for. They'd hurt the most powerful amongst their enemies, badly, they'd whittled down the numbers some, and the other side was in near total confusion.

For their part, the Zhents did what they could to restore order. Zandt bellowed for his Officer to the rear to charge the group moving to block the retreat corridor, only to realize that the man was down. He ordered the Lieutenant to take command of the rear guard and break a way out for them. He began moving forward, to take command of the fore guard.

Drezid, blood pouring from five separate arrow wounds, began chanting and gesticulating. When he'd finished, a bolt of lightning shot from his hands, blasting through the tree Kyera had ducked behind for cover. Though tree took most of the brunt, but she was knocked from her feet by the blast, the front of her dress scorched, the skin if her chest and shoulder blackened.

Kael stumbled to his feet, his head throbbing from the impact with the ground when his damned horse had thrown him. He tried to gather himself, to call upon the Dark Sun, Cyric, for a spell to punish those who would dare to strike at him, but a pair of arrows, one each from Sylvie and Sallas, struck, one in his chest, the other in his back. He stumbled to a knee, the words of his prayer dying in the back of his throat. He knew he didn't have long to live.

The Zhent Officer to the front kept his head. He ordered his men to draw their bows. One of every two carried a short bow and a quiver with a dozen arrows or so. He directed the men to the front to form a shield wall, protecting his archers from the damned enemy archers to the front. The archers he split into three groups, one to pin the enemy archers ahead, and one to fire upon the enemies on the hilltops to either side.

The hobgoblins at the rear, glad to have someone to attack, began charging the Party at the back end of the pass. There was some ground to cover, so the crossbowmen would likely get off two or three bolts apiece. Gloridel would be able to manage a bit more.

Reldrin, Dovrayne and Cedryl each took careful aim at a hobgoblin as the beasts charged. Bolts flew true, each one knocking down one of the creatures. Two of them rose again, continuing forward, but at a much slower pace. Several arrows from Gloridel dropped another, who did not rise again.

Toranes and his group continued firing, though they'd switched targets. Drezid had ducked behind his dead horse, making shots at him difficult. Toranes managed to punch an arrow through Zandt's armor, but a second glanced off. Tharkunn fired twice more into the enemy at the fore as they set their shield wall, both arrows finding a Zhent. Galarid fired a single shot into shield of a Zhent, and began moving toward the land bridge. _Too Soon_, Toranes thought, but the man had already reached it, dropping his bow. Lars moved to the boulder that Galarid had been using as cover, taking the man's spot. His arrow buried itself into the shoulder of the Officer.

Atop the ridge, Kaylin ducked away from an incoming arrow, reaching Kyera. She knelt over her friend and whispered a prayer that Lathander would grant her the ability to Heal her. The angry red and black tear in the flesh of Kyera's chest and shoulder began to knit, closing perhaps halfway, leaving the other woman looking much improved. She sat up, peering over the edge. "_Laninok_", she cried out, pointing straight at Drezid, as he hunkered down behind his horse. Five tiny balls of magic, just like a'Launiira's except that these were a blend of purple and blue, leapt from her hand, spinning and weaving on an unerring course toward the Zhent mage, each of the five striking him in a small explosion of magic. He cried out in pain and frustration. Having bought herself a brief moment, Kyera scrambled away from the blackened and split tree, dragging Kaylin with her.

The Zhents to the rear, their Officer fallen, hesitated. Some went for their bows, others argued over what they should do. The arrival of the Lieutenant, at a dead run, ended that. He ordered them to charge, pointing out in a shout, "Even the idiot hobgoblins knew that much!" The men did as they were commanded.

Gunthar and Viktor raised their shields and drew their swords. Halion stood with them, his claymore ready. They waited patiently. Their companions with crossbows managed to get another bolt nocked and raised them again, letting loose another volley. Gloridel never stopped firing, arrows streaming from the trees in what seemed to be a river. Gunthar marveled that the elf could hit anything firing so quickly. He couldn't possibly be taking time to aim, yet each arrow drew more hobgoblin blood. By the time the second crossbow volley had ended, the nineteen creatures who'd begun to charge were down to eleven, and two of them were wounded. The problem would be the twenty men now charging behind them.

The Zhent wagon driver was a quick thinker. He jumped into the wagon bed and upended a water barrel over the flames a'Launiira's Fireball had ignited, killing them. As he moved to retrieve his bow from the wagon seat, a stone from Tolmen's sling cracked the side of his head. It didn't drop him, but he wobbled, and lost his balance, falling awkwardly from the wagon, his shoulder impacting the ground with a sickening crunch. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he passed out.

Galarid charged across the land bridge, which was still invisible to the other side. He was met by a trio of hobgoblins, who moved to block his way at an order from Zandt. He blocked a stab from a hobgoblin blade with his main-gauche, dancing away from another and slicing open an artery in the leg of the third creature with his rapier.

Tharkunn, unwilling to leave Galarid to fight alone, fired another arrow narrowly missing the foreward Officer, then dropped his own bow and sprinted halfway across the land bridge.

Toranes and Lars continued firing arrows, mostly at Zandt, who was becoming furious at the stinging wounds. He ordered his archers to stop firing up the hillsides. They were having little effect anyways firing at elevated targets. He ordered them all to fire on Galarid, and the hobgoblins with him. They did as ordered. Several of the shots missed, two of the creatures were hit, and three arrows hit Galarid, causing the man to stumble.

Down in the pit, most of the hobgoblins had been hurt, a broken bone here, a cracked head there. A trio were relatively okay, and they were intrepid. They'd climbed upon one another's backs until one had been able to reach the upper lip. He was scrambling his way up, onto the land bridge, and he'd almost managed to pull himself out when Tharkunn, on his way by to aid Galarid, kicked him in the face, knocking him back in. All three tumbled back down. Tharkunn continued across, his sword coming free of the scabbard. He arrived just in time. Galarid, now riddled with arrows, stumbled, and the lone remaining hobgoblin howled in glee, raising a short sword to finish him, only to have in intercepted, and knocked aside by Tharkunn's blade on the way down. The remaining few hobgoblins on this side of the formation charged them. Zandt pulled the great sword off his back and began striding toward this second man as well, a half dozen of the swordsmen following.

Having finished a second volley, the crossbowmen set their crossbows down, each one drawing his weapon, be it sword, or axe, or hammer, and readied their shields. They formed a line across the pass with Gunthar and Viktor at the center, Reldrin and Cedryl to the left, Halion and Dovrayne to the right.

Drezid, sensing that he needed to do something soon, or he would die, began casting again. A dense layer of fog seemed to rise up out of the ground surrounding himself, Kael and the wagon, hiding them from view. He crawled toward the wounded priest, remembering where he had been, though he couldn't see him. "Kael," he croaked in his whispery voice, hoping the man could hear him over the din of the soldiers shouting.

"Here," came the weak reply. He crawled toward him, drawing a small glass vial from a pouch at his belt. He needed Kael alive. He used his teeth to pull the cork sealing the vial free and spit it aside.

"Drink this," he said, tilting the vial against the man's lips.

Kael could feel the power of the magic surging through him. The potion was a strong one. He was by no means fully Healed, but he no longer lay at the very edge of death's door either. He began chanting, calling upon Cyric to Heal Drezid. He too could see that they were in desperate straights.

Kyera had been ready to cast again, when the fog had appeared. She could no longer see Drezid. Rather than waste a spell, she readjusted and began to chant. The ground behind the archers at the fore began to rumble, pushing upward and forming into a creature of pure earth. Several of the archers dropped their bows and drew swords. The creature swung a huge fist of rock and lifted one completely off the ground. He landed several feet away with a sickening thud.

Galarid knew the moment he was hit it was bad. The arrow had slipped between his ribs and punctured his lung. He couldn't breathe, sinking to his knees. He thanked the Gods that the Zhents had been indiscriminant in their fire, knocking down two of the hobgoblins facing him as well. The third, however, loomed over him, about to end his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. The blade began to fall, in slow motion. He tried to look up, to the hillside, perhaps to see a'Launiira one last time. He couldn't. And then, Tharkunn's sword knocked aside that final blow. Galarid fell to his back. He could taste his own bile and blood in the back of his throat.

From her perch atop the hillside, a'Launiira saw Galarid fall, saw Tharkunn save him, only to watch him fall back. She knew there was no way she could reach him in time. A primal scream tore its way free from her throat. She lashed out, sending another spell into the midst of the hobgoblins charging Tharkunn and Galarid. "_Tarathan Ovayl!_" It was Glitterdust, not a powerful offensive spell, by any means, but several of the crestures stopped, or stumbled and fell, rendered blind by the effect. Only a single hobgoblin continued on.

Kael, having done what he could to Heal Drezid, had stumbled his way to the wagon and climbed aboard. While standing on it, the upper half of his body was above the fog. He heard a'Launiira's scream, and smiled to himself when she stepped into plain view, casting her spell at the hobgoblins. He began chanting himself. A stone whizzed past his ear, but the distraction was not enough to hinder him.

A column of purplish-black flames appeared directly above a'Launiira, striking down, enveloping her. She screamed again, as the flames licked at her from all sides, the burning sensation accompanied by a foulness she'd never felt before. Mercifully, she passed out and her body slid halfway down the hillside.

Kaylin pointed to a'Launiira, drawing Kyera's attention. The half-elven woman nodded and began rooting in her pouch for a component.

At the other end of the pass, Gloridel switched his focus from the approaching hobgoblins, trusting that his companions could handle them, to the men coming up fast behind. His arrows continued to fly fast and true, but they were soon going to be in short supply.

The wave of hobgoblins crashed and broke upon the shields of the Party. They were no match for the trained knights, the skilled mercenaries, the large Halion, and the dwarf, Reldrin. They fought, but died quickly. The men behind them would prove far tougher.

Toranes could see that a few more arrows were not going to be enough. He dropped his bow and drew his sword, summoning a spell to mind. "_Cuthen'mere_" he called out and a doorway of darkness opened before him. As he stepped through, it disappeared and another, just like it, opened between Tharkunn and the approaching Zandt. He finished his step through this second doorway, Redlan coming up to face the giant of a man.

Lars could see how it was going now. Taking two last shots at the approaching soldiers, he took the time to sling his bow on his back before drawing his own sword and stepping out from behind his boulder.

The spell of Healing that Kael had used on him left Drezid stronger, more able to focus, but nowhere near as well as he had hoped. He needed to escape if he was to find the Treasure of Wong Tze. Unfortunately, he knew no Translocation magics. He began casting a spell that would allow him to fly.

Myrian had very little magic left. Seeing Kael's terrifying spell drop a'Launiira, she cast the most powerful spell remaining to her, "_Melfitus_", conjuring an arrow of acid that flew straight at the Doomscribe, striking him in the neck. He let out a terrible scream and tumbled forward, off the side of the wagon, disappearing once again into the mist.

Gunthar pulled his blade from the chest of a hobgoblin and readied himself. The Zhents were upon them. Twenty men, and the two remaining hobgoblins, twenty-two in all, against six they were. They'd faced worse odds before, but these men were no simple minded orcs. Each was a soldier, trained with his weapons, wearing armor, and carrying shields of their own. The Lieutenant was a solid commander, and a skilled warrior in his own right. Reldrin was the first to fall, after taking the legs, both of them, from the knees down, of one of the Zhents. He used his shield to block a thrust from another, only to have a third man's sword open a gash across his throat. The axe fell from his numbed fingers and he toppled back. Cedryl was the next to fall, having been cut off from the others when Redlrin fell, he was surrounded by five men. Three of them fell before a sword entered his back and his knees buckled. The others fought on.

Sylvie and Sallas were slowly eating away at the archers and soldiers remaining in a clump at the fore of the enemy formation. Several of those archers disregarded their orders to concentrate to the front and fired back at the elves, whose advantage in height and cover made them very difficult to hit.

Kyera finished casting her spell upon Kyera, allowing the other woman to fly, and she immediately took to the air, streaking across the pass toward a'Launiira. She was nearly halfway across when Drezid burst upward, out of the mist, flying himself. He'd prepared a nasty surprise fpor anyone close enough, but was surprised himself at just how close a'Launiira was. He couldn't hit her with his Fireball, or he'd burn himself as well. Kaylin dodged one way, and he the other, the gap between them separating. He came to hovering stop and began to cast at her. It was his undoing.

Seeing such a ripe, and important target, Sallas, Sylvie, and even Gloridel took their chance. Each fired a pair of arrows into him, causing his spell to fail. A third arrow from Gloridel was enough to cause his eyes to flutter closed, the pain and loss of blood leaving him unconscious. He began to slowly drift downward, disappearing back into the mist.

Seeing Toranes appear in front of him, Zandt charged, swinging his massive blade in a wide arc. Toranes blocked it, turning it aside, but he nearly had his own weapon torn from his hand as a result. Both men adjusted, regaining their balance.

Tharkunn finished the first hobgoblin, and made short work of the second, only to be faced with five more men. They approached carefully, spreading out around him in a semi-circle. He did the only thing he could to even the odds, turning and sprinting back onto the land bridge before spinning back to face them It was narrow enough that only two would be able to reach him at a time. Three followed, two in front, and one behind, ready to step in if one of the others should fall. He realized that the illusion had faded, and the Zhents could now see the pit clearly.

Of the other two Zhents, one began creeping up behind Toranes as he tried to keep Zandt at bay, and the last moved to Galarid. The man was clearly dying, but not fast enough for the Zhent, who jabbed his sword down into the fallen man's chest, ending what little life he had remaining to him.

Kaylin reached a'Launiira, landing as smoothly as she could at the spot where the woman had stopped sliding down the generally steep hillside. She was still breathing, but barely. Kaylin did not hesitate, immediately beginning to once more call upon Lathander, this time for the most powerful Healing prayer she knew. She laid her hand, gently upon drow woman's chest, letting the curative magic flow from herself into her friend. A"launiira's eyes fluttered open briefly, only to drift closed again.

A small shower of pebbles from above startled Kaylin, sending her hand to the small mace at her belt until she realized that it was Tolmen. He was slowly descending the hillside, his sure feet slipping on occasion, but not much. He had a coil of rope he'd tied to a tree above and was using to descend.

The Elemental Kyera had summoned fought well, dispatching seven of the Zhents before falling to their massed swords and axes. Only two of the men remained, and they slipped into the mist, which had started to fade, but was not gone yet.

Tharkunn ended the life of one of the first two men to reach him quickly, but the third stepped up, and the one who'd finished Galarid was fast approaching. He wanted to end things quickly, and rush to Toranes' aid. It did not appear that things were going well for his old friend. Suddenly, Lars was at his side. The man was not his equal as a swordsman, but he was no longer fighting so defensively outnumbered two to one. One on one, he slashed and stabbed, and toppled his opponent into the pit, which opened an opportunity for the last man to step up.

Gunthar finished the man in front of him, shouldering into him with his shield and knocking him off balance, then slashing across his ribs. He knocked another man aside and swung at the Lieutenant.

Dovrayne had dropped two men. He was facing three others, but most were hesitant to approach too close. The flaming warhammer was giving them pause. He was thankful for that. He was tiring, and soon he'd slip up if he didn't end things fast.

Halion had taken several wounds. Fortunately, he'd given near as good as he'd gotten. Better, in fact. Two dead Zhents lay at his feet. Another was crawling away.

Viktor swatted aside a half-hearted thrust from the lone Zhent still facing him. He smiled. The tide was about to turn. Unfortunately, he didn't see the Zhent who'd snuck around behind him. That soldier raised his sword, ready to end the life of the knight, and three arrows, one after another sped from the trees to the side. The first hit his chest on the right side, the second lodged under his collarbone on the right, and the third went straight through his left eye. His last arrows spent, Gloridel dropped his bow and drew his long-bladed dagger, preparing to jump into the fight.

Toranes knew that he was outmatched. He every bit as good a swordsman as Zandt, but the man's size and strength gave him a huge advantage. If he could just hold on,… The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when a gauntleted fist hit the side of his head as he ducked under a sweep of that massive blade. Redlan slipped from his grasp as he sprawled in the dirt.

Tharkunn and Lars worked well together, and soon they'd dropped another of the men blocking their path. The last, stepped back dropping his sword and asking for quarter. "Watch him," Tharkunn growled as he sped off. He rushed to get between Toranes and Zandt, having seen his friend go down.

Kyera saw Tharkunn step in against Zandt and realized that the greater danger lay to the other end of the pass. She called to mind another Magic Missile spell and let five more magical bolts fly, dodging to and fro, before striking one of the men facing Dovrayne from behind. The man's hammer finished the job.

Between them, Kaylin and Tolmen managed to rig a rope harness, ensuring a'Launiira would not fall any farther down the hillside. Neither was strong enough, alone, to pull her back up. Gunthar dropped another of the men before him, only to realize that only three Zhents still stood, and they had all dropped swords and asked for quarter.

Tharkunn parried a blow from Zandt, stumbling to the side as he did. Gods, but the man was strong! He knew he'd not recover in time, but suddenly the man arched his back, and cried out in pain. Lars was there, his sword imbedded deep in the man's side.

Toranes, now recovering from that blow to the head, sat up and called out a few words of magic "_Turun Dohrahn_", and a bar of fire, shot from his hands, impacting with Zandt's chest. The man cried out again.

Tharkunn, seeing his chance,slipped to the side and hammered at the man with his sword, once, twice, a third time, driving him back until his back foot had nowhere to come down, and he toppled into the pit. He landed directly on top of one of the hobgoblins, impaling himself on its spear, ending his own life, and its life too, his weight and the weight of his armor crushing it.

It was over. The battle had been won, but like most every battle, the price of victory had been paid, in blood.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO – Aftermath**

Kaylin put Kyera's _Fly_ spell to good use. With a'Launiira secured, she rushed to the far end of the pass. Reldrin was gone. He'd been dead before his body ever hit the ground, but she used the gift of Healing given to her by the Morninglord to keep Cedryl alive. The mercenary had been right on the ragged edge of death, but she'd managed to pull him back.

Initially, her first instinct on leaving a'Launiira's side was to find the closest wounded ally. That was Galarid, and he had been a friend for some time, but she was waved off by Toranes. She'd listened to him, and it was a good thing. If she'd tried to go to Galarid first, Cedryl would likely have been gone before she arrived.

Tharkunn asked Lars, "Did you kill the other one, the one who surrendered?" He'd looked, but hadn't seen a body.

"I gave him a choice," Lars said. "Summary judgment and execution, or he drops his weapons and jumps down into the pit."

"I take it, he chose the pit." from Tharkunn.

"Yes he did."

After checking that Toranes would be alright until Kaylin could see to him, Tharkunn and Lars began climbing the Eastern hilltop, where they could help Tolmen get a'Launiira back up the hillside.

Blizzard wandered down to Toranes side, following Kyera. The woodsman had slumped down next to a boulder. She lay down next to him, her head resting on his thigh. Kyera began ministering to his wounds, as best she could.

Kaylin did what she could to get the Party healed up. She only had so much Healing to go around, so she chose the worst off first, making sure they were stable before moving on to the next person. Gunthar and Viktor seemed to be in the best shape, except for Lars and Gloridel, neither of whom had actually entered the fight directly, until the very end. Sallas and Sylvie, Myrian and Tolmen were also unhurt.

Toranes and Dovrayne were pretty beat up, as was Halion, but none was in danger of imminent death. a'Launiira and Cedryl were in very bad shape, but both would survive, she thought. Kyera was hiding it well, but she was still hurting from the _Lightning Bolt_ that Drezid had thrown her way.

Gunthar and Viktor checked the enemy. They took seven total prisoners, including the one who'd jumped into the pit at Lars order, and the two who'd hidden themselves in the back of the wagon, hoping to sneak away at some point, most of them badly wounded. They'd been bandaged and disarmed, and lowered into the pit, on the other side of the land bridge from the hobgoblins, where they were guarded by Gloridel.

After a quick discussion between them, and a consultation with Toranes, Gunthar and Viktor decided that the world would be better off without the three remaining hobgoblins. Sallas and Sylvie finished them with their bows.

The Party made a camp right there in the center of the pass. They used their horses to drag most of the Zhent bodies to the pit with the hobgoblins. They were tossed in. In the morning, Kyera would use another _Move Earth _spell to fill in the pits. They'd march the prisoners back to Nesme with them, and turn them over to that town's authorities.

Kyera and Tharkunn oversaw the search of the bodies, gathering whatever seemed useful or important, setting it all aside for the moment to be studied later. They found a small, leather bound book on Drezid's body, filled with the strange characters of the Shou language.

The bodies of Reldrin and Galarid were cleaned up as best as they could manage, and wrapped in blankets, as respectfully as they could manage. Upon their return to Nesme, they would bury their friends with all the honors they deserved. Halion chose a number of weapons and shields from their fallen enemies to be buried at their friends' feet, badges of honor for them in death.

It was a cold and quiet camp that night. When a'Launiira regained consciousness, she cried until she fell asleep in Kaylin's arms. Cedryl would not wake until the following day, after another round of Healing from Kaylin and a'Launiira.

In all, Toranes' plan had worked nearly to perfection. They'd used the terrain and the element of surprise to put their enemy in chaos, nullifying their huge advantage in numbers. The odds had been nearly seven to one against them, and they'd lost only two of their own. Cedryl and a'Launiira would need some time to recover from their physical wounds, and she'd need even more time to recover from the loss of Galarid. Kaylin could attest to that. She still wept sometimes over Addam.

However, those two deaths were hard on Toranes. It had been his plan, his leadership. Intellectually, he could grasp just how great the victory had been. Emotionally, he blamed himself for their losses. For the next two days, Kyera left his side only as needed to cast spells of importance.

One of the Zhent prisoners died from his wounds that first night. They'd been bandaged, but all the Healing spells had been saved for the Party's own wounded.

A single, minor spell of Healing was given to each prisoner in need of one the following morning, by Kaylin. a'Launiira refused to Heal any of them, and no one in the Party could blame her in the least. The men were bound, their weapons and armor already confiscated. They were marched along in front of the Party, guarded at all times.

A message, via a _Sending _spell, brought Alustriel and a group of ten Knight-in-Silver on the second day. It hadn't been the intent of the Party for her to come, but she'd scryed upon them and come to bring them home. She wanted the Zhents tried in Silverymoon for their crimes, and she wanted the Party back home, safe and sound.

She cried along with a'Launiira, and the others, over the deaths of Galarid and Reldrin. She arranged for the dwarf's body to be brought back to Citadel Adbar, via magic, where he could be interred in the crypts of the city beside his ancestors. Galarid would eventually be buried in one of the city's well-tended graveyards.

She took possession of the book, which did indeed turn out to be the journal of Wong Tze. She never told anyone, including the Party, if it did in fact lead to a lost trove of Netherese magic and spells. The journal went into the most secure vaults under the Lady's Palace, perhaps one the safest, and least accessible places in all of Faerun.

The Party spent several days, resting and recovering, both physically, and emotionally from their ordeal and their travels.

After a few days, Alustriel gathered them all together again, including those who'd only joined up with the Party after they reached the Cold Wood. Once again, the meeting took place in the Lady's Private Dining Hall, over a meal.

"I wanted to thank you all one more time," she began, once they'd arrived and pleasantries had been exchanged. "You've done the Marchlands, nay, all of Faerun a great service. Let us take just a moment and toast to fallen comrades." She raised her glass.

Toranes spoke up then, "We drink to the memory of a fine man and stout dwarf, companions, friends, and heroes. They will be missed. They will be remembered." With that, he tilted the glass up, taking a good swallow. The wine was an excellent Tethyrian vintage.

More than one eye held a tear. It was all a'Launiira could do to keep from crying, yet again, though she knew none of her companions would think any less of her if she did.

They ate a fine dinner of roasted quail and fresh vegetables sautéed in a white raspberry butter, fresh baked honey-oat bread and baby red potatoes mashed with garlic and thyme. There were a number of excellent wines, and a pitcher of Adbarran ale, a nod to the memory of Reldrin.

After the meal, Toranes produced a mandolin and sang a ballad he'd composed, along with Kyera, about the Party's adventures and their victory over the Zhents. It was terribly sad at times, uplifting at others. His clear tenor found a near perfect harmony with Kyera's sweet soprano voice.

At the end of the evening, they retired to the rooms they'd stayed in during their previous stay in the Palace, except for Toranes and Kyera. They walked, hand in hand through the West Gardens. The night air held a touch of chill, but the Mythal that protected the city kept the temperature within a comfortable range at all times.

"What do we do next," Kyera asked.

"I'm not sure," Toranes answered her with a shrug.

"Myrian is planning to enter the Lady's College when classes begin again next month," she said.

"And Halion will stay here in the city to be nearer to her."

"Cedryl has already bought himself a new horse. He's planning to ride to Waterdeep and find work," Kyera said.

"Yes. He asked Dovrayne to go with him, but he wants to stay."

"Lars and Viktor will go back to the Knights," Kyera said.

"Already have. Sylvie wants to stay with us, though."

"Sallas?" she asked.

"Headed home tomorrow, and Gloridel has already headed home."

"Tolmen will stay with Gunthar. They've been together a long time."

"We'll take some time," he said. "We'll talk to the others, see if they want to stay together, or go their own way."

"They'll stay with us," she said.

"Yeah," he said. He felt her shiver just a bit, so he stopped removing his cloak and wrapping it lightly around her shoulders. She smiled up at him. His lips found hers. He couldn't believe all the time he'd wasted. For a man who prided himself on his attention to detail and noticing the little things that most folk missed, he'd sure missed the important clues in his own life.

"Do you think your father will approve?" he asked.

Her answer was a deep and throaty laugh. "He wanted to come and talk to you, to ask you how the hell you could be so blind, years ago. I made him promise to keep quiet."

"He was right. I was blind." He gathered her up into his arms and kissed her again. "Never again," he said when he regained his breath.

She pressed her cheek against his chest. He was warm and solid, and she could hear his heart beating in his chest. "There will never be a need again," she said. "Besides," she said with a laugh, "Mother is the one you need to watch out for."

He smiled, realizing that Marith Trajan was indeed a far more intimidating presence than her husband, despite her diminutive stature. "I'll let you tell her," he said, while I hide in the barn. She laughed again and rested her head against his shoulder as they continued to walk.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the end of In Silver Dreams, though I have given some thought to a sequel. I'd consider doing it if there is enough interest. I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'd like to take a moment to say "Thank You" to all of the folks who've been reading and reviewing. It has been much appreciated.


End file.
